


Wasted Hearts

by indiefic



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complete ignoring of Canon, F/M, Game of Thrones inspired Alternate Universe, Gen, a little bit of Peggy/Jack, hatefucking, loss of a child, massively dysfunctional marriage, mentions of cheating, mentions of drug use, mentions of overdose, steggy babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Game of Thrones inspired Alternate Universe.  Alternate 1940s.  A little steampunky.  Lots of Victorian societal overtones.  Very, very AU.</p><p>Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter were married very young.  A lifetime of tragedy later, fate brings them together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> So I may have watched a Game of Thrones marathon and had some unexpected Steggy feels. 
> 
> I'm not even gonna lie. This is some pretty cracky crack!fic. Alternate Universe. Very, very alternate. 
> 
> Setting is largely 1940s, with some steampunk aspects. Lots of Victorian social overtones.

“My thanks for your generous invitation,” Steve says, his overly formal words dripping with bitter sarcasm and simmering anger as he enters the room.  He’s been shown to her private chambers in the sprawling residence.  The last time he was here, these were his mother’s rooms, but Peggy has obviously re-purposed them in the intervening years.

 

He’s shocked that she’s chosen to receive him here, though he hides it.  He assumed he would be shown to some austere, depressingly grand space.  God knows there are plenty of them in this place.  Something more fitting of her personality, and the long running hostilities between them.  But, he concedes, receiving him here definitely gives her the upper hand.  And it sharpens the point that this is now  _ her _ home, and he is the guest.

 

Peggy doesn’t bother to look at him, or acknowledge him in any way.  She’s standing across the room at her desk, conferring with one of her handmaids, Sif.  Handmaids are what she calls them.  Because handmaids are who a woman of her status surrounds herself with.  But they are, bluntly, body guards.  Highly trained, deadly, and loyal to her beyond question.  A testament to the influence Peggy wields and the enemies she’s earned while he’s been away.

 

He stands there, growing more irritated, but she’s in no hurry.  He’s been ignoring her summonses for months and now that he’s here, it’s his turn to wait.  Tit for tat.  He sets his hands on his hips, glaring at her.  “What do you want, Peggy?”

 

She finally looks at him, and he is reminded, uncomfortably, of why he agreed to their marriage all those years ago.  The family needed the money, to be certain.  But Peggy is a breathtakingly attractive woman.  Possibly the most stunning he’s ever seen.  The fact that she hates him does not detract from that.  And she has matured in ways he never imagined when they first wed.  

 

Her dark eyes, always so captivating, now hold a fierce intelligence and boundless ambition, which she does not bother to hide.  Her dark hair is long, cascading over her shoulders.  She’s wearing black, something she never did before Joseph’s death, as far as Steve knows.  He remembers her in white, pink, and frothy lace, always with books and dreams.  He suspects black is all she wears now, body and mind.  

 

Her dress is long, brushing the floor as she walks, accentuating her height, hugging the curves of her enviable figure.  The sleeves nearly cover her hands and the ensemble would be modest were it not for the deep V at the throat, exposing her sternum and a good portion of her ample cleavage.  Her skin is pale, paler than he’s ever seen it and he wonders if she ever leaves this place, if she ever sees the sun.  He doubts it.  Mourning has consumed her. In a manner so different from the way it has consumed him.

 

With a wave of her hand, she dismisses Sif, who eyes him warily as she leaves.  Peggy crosses her arms over her chest, watching him as she walks around the desk toward him.  She doesn’t completely close the distance.  

 

“I want more children,” she says bluntly, never taking her eyes from his.

 

He blinks at her, stunned, and then laughs mirthlessly.  “By all means,” he says, “don’t let me stop you.  Have all the little bastards you want.”

 

Her perfect, crimson lips purse into a thin line and she walks closer.  “That’s precisely the issue,  _ husband _ .”  She says the word with all the disdain she no doubt feels toward him.  “I don’t want bastards.”

 

He looks at her, and then away.  In a million years, he would never have imagined that  _ this _ is why she bid him here.  He shakes his head, looking at her.  “I don’t want more children,” he says flatly.  The very idea is repulsive to him.

 

“I don’t care what you want,” she bites back, her eyes flashing.

 

He laughs.  “That much I did know,” he says bitterly.  He truly cannot believe they are having this conversation.  In all the years of their marriage, he has bedded her a handful of times, enough to get her with child. Enough, they both thought, to ensure the line of succession for both their families.  As soon as the doctors assured him the child would stick, he left her, happy to return to the front, happy to put her completely out of his mind.

 

Steve knows that had no business with a girl like her, so young and sheltered.  He understands now, after everything that happened, how terribly he mistreated her.  Not out of a desire to hurt her, but out of sheer carelessness.  She was little more than a child, cosseted away her entire life, born solely for the purpose of furthering family ambition.  And while he wasn’t significantly older than her, he was infinitely more worldly.  He’d already been a soldier for years, risking life and limb in battle day after day.  He preferred the women who fought at his side, fearless and aggressive.  He had no idea what to do with a quiet, cowering virgin.  So he did his duty, but he doubts she would have ever thanked him for it.  They were both relieved when she fell pregnant quickly.

 

“I mean to have more children,” she says darkly.  “And there will be  _ no _ question as to their parentage, no opportunity for anyone to question the line of succession.”

 

And there it is again, that fierce intellect and avarice.  She means to have what she wants, a dynasty built on both their houses.  The Carters have the money, the resources, and popular appeal.  But the Rogerses have a lineage that traces back a thousand years, and ties to every family of consequence in existence.  He knows, without a doubt, that if she could architect her future without him, she would.  He suspects she’s run every possible scenario to its end and decided, to her own chagrin, that he’s her best bet.  

 

That’s too bad.

 

“I wish you the best of luck with your endeavor,” he says.

 

She steps closer, so close she has to look up to meet his eye, which he knows she hates.  “You  _ owe _ me,” she says, her voice a harsh whisper.

 

He looks down at her, jaw clenched tight.  He blinks, looking away, his breath coming too fast.

 

She turns away, giving him space.  “There are medical means, of course,” she says conversationally.  “We don’t even have to be in the same room.”  She pauses.  “But I would prefer a method that leaves nothing to chance in terms of paternity.”

 

So he can jerk off in a cup, but she’d prefer if he fucked her.  Even though she hates him.  To avoid the possibility of anyone tampering with the sample, compromising her plans.  Jesus Christ, what kinds of enemies has she made?

 

He turns away.  As he told her, he does not want more children.  He was done with being a father the day Joseph died.  The day their boy was murdered, on Steve’s watch.  But Peggy wants what she wants, and it, unfortunately, includes him by necessity.  

 

Steve hates owing people.  He goes out of his way to avoid it.  He always has.  But Peggy’s right.  He does owe her.  He owes her a son.  Because it’s his fault that Joseph is gone, and they both know it.  The fact that she hasn’t actually said those exact words is a bit of a blessing, but he knows if he pushes, she will throw it in his face.  She probably hated him before Joseph’s death, but she definitely hates him now.

 

“Fine,” he says tersely.

 

She doesn’t look at him, but she says, “ _ Children, _ Steve.  Enough that perhaps one of them can survive having you as a father.”

 

He grinds his teeth together.  “Whatever you want, Peg.”

 

She finally looks over her shoulder at him.  “Tonight,” she says.  “Rose will give you the details.”

 

He turns and leaves.

 

* * *

 

He’s drunk.  Not so drunk that he won’t be able to perform, but drunk enough to blunt the edges, to quell the voices in his head, if only temporarily.  He’s here, at the appointed hour, at the appointed place.   _ Not _ her personal chambers, though that doesn’t surprise him.  A lavish guest suite at one of the most exclusive hotels in the city, with a fantastic view.  He hates every bit of it.

 

He sighs, pouring himself another drink.  He hates the city.  He hates the reminders of who and what he used to be.  The lack of anonymity.  He’s spent the last five years wandering, being no one and nothing.  Beholden to no one.

 

But he is beholden to  _ her _ .  Without a doubt.  They couldn’t even have a proper funeral.  They couldn’t say the rites.  He wasn’t able to retrieve their boy’s body.

 

The door opens and closes and he turns to face her.  She’s draped in a dark cloak, not exactly the style these days.  But Peggy make it look timeless and powerful.  Much like she is herself.  

 

Watching him, she pulls back the hood.  Drink in hand, he walks over to one of the plush arm chairs and sits down.  The suite, while undoubtedly expensive, is not overly large.  It’s dominated by the enormous bed.  As if they needed a reminder as to why they’re here.

 

She crosses the room to stand in front of him.  She stands so close that his knees are lost in the folds of her cloak.  Reaching down, she takes the glass from his hand and tosses back half the contents in one swallow.  She hands it back to him and he finishes it, setting it aside on an end table.

 

He watches her.  His  _ wife _ .  So beautiful.  So calculating.  He appreciates the irony of the situation.  She was never meant for this life.  She was meant to be sheltered and protected, worshiped.  She was so innocent, so accepting.  But he hadn’t wanted that, hadn’t valued those qualities.  He preferred fierce women, who needed nothing from him.  And through his own carelessness, he helped transform his quiet, accommodating wife into one of the fiercest creatures he’s ever tangled with.

 

Carefully, he reaches out, parting the folds of her cloak, waiting to see if she will object.  She doesn’t, and he forces the material wider.  His breath catches as he bares her to his gaze.  She’s dressed all in black.  Black stockings, black garters.  The tight, silky black nightgown is barely long enough to cover her secrets and it displays her cleavage to perfection.  By comparison, her skin looks luminously pale, fragile and pristine.

 

He stares at her, taking it all in. She stands there, watching him with an unreadable expression.  She shifts her weight back and forth between her feet with nervous energy.  Like she expects to be rejected.  Did she really think he would need this element of theater that her outfit brings?  He appreciates it, to be certain.  He enjoys the look.  It’s always been one of his favorites.  Stockings, garters, a fabulous set of tits.  But Peggy is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen and even her seething hatred for him can’t quell the physical ache he feels looking at her.  He’d want her if she was wearing a potato sack.  Or nothing at all.

 

He touches her lightly at the hips, over the nightgown and he can feel the muscles in her abdomen jump, a sharp intake of breath that might be relief.  Or repulsion.  “ _ Peggy _ ,” he says, curving his hands around her ass, pulling her closer, pushing his face against her belly.

 

She shrugs out of the cloak, letting it fall to the floor as her fingers card through his hair, holding him close.  He pulls her down, into his lap so she is straddling him as he kisses her.  She returns the kiss, biting at his lips.  He takes a breath.  Waits for her to calm.  When she does, he slants his mouth against hers, touching his tongue to hers.  She makes a needy sound, pressing closer to him.  

 

He pulls away and then kisses along her jaw, down her neck.  He kisses across the tops of her shoulders and bites down gently.  She makes a frustrated noise and tugs impatiently at his clothes.  He tries to delay her, but she’s determined.  He finally relents, pulling his shirt over his head, mindless of where it goes.  She reaches for him immediately with a growl, her fingernails raking deeply across his shoulders and down his back.

 

His breath hisses through his teeth and he pulls at her hips, grinding her down against him.  He has always preferred aggressive bedpartners and Peggy is distancing herself from the pack with the ferocity of her desire.  He grabs fistfulls of her nightgown and pulls until the material rends, baring her completely to him.  His mouth closes on her breast, his teeth biting gently at her nipple and she whimpers, gentling.  He nips and suckles at her for long minutes, until she’s writhing in his lap.

 

He picks her up and her legs immediately go around his waist.  He walks blindly across the room, kissing her as he goes.  Gently, he lays her on the bed and steps back to survey the scene.  She’s sprawled there, bare save for the garter and stockings, legs parted.  She watches him, her lips open in a pant.  Fuck, he wants her.  He doesn’t care whether she hates him or not.  Let her hate him, so long as she wants him like this.

 

He unbuttons his trousers and shoves them down his hips, stepping out of the material.  He kneels at the foot of the bed, wrapping his arms around her thighs, pulling her, and the covers, to the edge of the bed.  She yelps his name as he tastes her, her heels digging into his back.  God, she’s wet.  He noticed earlier.  But he thought maybe it was lube and it’s not.  It’s all her, the salty tang of her arousal.  Her hips arch up against him insistently, but he takes his time, exploring, testing.  She’s so responsive, so vocal, both in her praise and her frustrations.  The second time he brings her to the edge and then backs her off, she tugs a fistful of his hair, cursing, demanding.

 

He catches her wrist, pinning her hand to the mattress and she curses again, trying to twist away from him.  He surges to his feet and immediately crawls over her, pinning both her wrists over her head as he slides inside her.  Her mouth falls open in ecstasy, her neck arching and eyes fluttering shut.  Her legs are immediately around his hips, urging him closer.  He drives into her, watching her climax wash over her features.  As they shift from bliss into discomfort, he stills, gives her time to recover.  

 

She’s panting now, staring up at him.  Her pupils are too large and he knows she’s on something.  He wonders if she needed it in order to face this, to face him.  He hopes not, but he wouldn’t be shocked.  He wonders who her lovers are.  It’s obvious she’s taken some, perhaps legions.  She is not the cowering virgin he bedded all those years ago.  This is a woman who knows what she wants, and is accustomed to getting her way.  And goddamn if he doesn’t want to give it to her, to know he’s pleased her.

 

He starts to move again, slowly, and her eyes flutter shut as she moans.  She tugs at her wrists and he releases them.  She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a languid kiss.  As much as he adored her hate and demands, her soft yielding undoes him completely.  He drives into her.  She holds him tighter, whispering his name.  The force of his climax surprises him and he surges against her a final time, burying himself as deep as possible.

 

Breathing hard, he rolls away, onto his back, putting space between them.  He watches her as she lays there, her movements languid.  Several long minutes later, she pushes herself up and he’s sure she’s going to leave.  But she simply retrieves the covers from the end of the bed, pulling them up, offering some to him without looking at him.  He’s not sure what’s come over him, but he goes for broke, reaching for her.  She lets him gather her close and rests quietly against him. 

 

They doze, off and on for hours, waking to fuck and then falling asleep again.  The final time it’s just light enough to see her profile as he falls into sleep.  When he finally wakes for good, the sun is up.

 

And she’s gone.

 

END CHAPTER


	2. My Whole Life

Steve has no idea what to expect, or rather, what Peggy expects of him - aside from the obvious.  He knows enough about female fertility to know there are only several days a cycle where conception is an option.  He has no doubt that she knows exactly when that is, so as to minimize the amount of contact she has to have with him.  When a courier finds him as he’s leaving his rented room, giving him another set of instructions, he figures they must be in the window.

 

He doesn’t know how Peggy found him, though he supposes she must have her spies.  She’s on the Council, has been for several years.  From all accounts, she’s a force to be reckoned with.  He has no desire to involve himself in her life or social circles.  Political intrigue and dynastic aspirations have never been his thing.  It’s why he’s staying in a rented room in a shady neighborhood rather than in one of the family residences.  It’s why he wears a t-shirt and trousers topped with a worn leather jacket, rather than his uniform.  Anonymity is the only thing he desires these days.  Well, anonymity and Peggy’s body.

 

The evening’s summons doesn’t instruct him back to last night’s lavish hotel.  This time it’s not a neutral location.  It’s her chambers.  He wonders if that’s an improvement or not.  The implication that he’s passed some secret test irks him.  He’s further irritated when he brushes shoulders with some guy leaving her chambers.  He’s tallish, blond, a little on the scrawny side.  And he doesn’t seem happy to see Steve.

 

Steve pushes through the door and Peggy is sitting on a small sofa, reading through something.  Steve stands there.  She doesn’t acknowledge him.  He waits impatiently for several more minutes and finally shrugs out of his jacket and pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it at her.  It catches her across the face and she tosses it away, glaring at him.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says.  “I thought you wanted me here so I could fuck you.  Did I misread your instructions?”

 

She flinches.  It’s a miniscule movement, but he can see her expression harden, almost feel her withdraw.  Whatever progress they made last night is immediately undone and he kicks himself mentally.  He doesn’t want to be her friend, but he’d rather not have to look over his shoulder.

 

“My apologies,” she says tightly, rising to her feet.  “If you wouldn’t mind,” she says, poison sweet, gesturing to a doorway.  Beyond, he can see a bed.  “I’ll be there in a moment.”

 

She turns away and disappears into what he assumes must be a bathroom.  Curious, he crosses over to the sofa and looks down at the papers she was studying.  They’re medical reports concerning her brother, Michael.  Apparently he was wounded late last night and his condition is serious.   _Shit_.

 

Steve sighs, shaking his head.  Why can’t he just keep his mouth shut and get through this with as little drama as possible?  Antagonizing her will not help him.  He enters the bedroom, _her_ bedroom,  and undresses.  He’s not staying the night.  Not tonight.  He’ll fuck her and then get out.  If it doesn’t work, he’ll try again next month, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to be at her beck and call in the meantime.

 

He’s in bed when she enters the room.  No lingerie this time, just a long, dark robe which she drops to the floor before crawling into bed.  He can tell, even in the dim light, that her pupils are completely blown.  She’s uncoordinated, unable to really kiss him back when he reaches for her.  He knows she took something last night and he didn't say anything.  But last night she was at least coherent.  He's angry, insulted.

 

He pulls away, shaking his head.  “What the fuck are you on?” he demands.

 

She blinks at him, docile, not bristling at all at his words.  

 

That scares him.  

 

“Peggy,” he says firmly, taking her face in his hands, looking down at her.  “What are you on?”

 

“Brosh,” she manages to slur.

 

He curses.  Ambrosia.  It’s a potent narcotic and aphrodisiac, purportedly designed for sex slaves, an implication Steve does _not_ appreciate.  Like any street drug, it’s highly subject to quality control issues and, in his opinion, far too dangerous to be worth any potential enjoyment.  Though he suspects neither of them would enjoy anything tonight.  He doubts she knows what planet she’s right now, and he’s not into fucking corpses.

 

He turns on the light, and looks at her.  She's worse than he imagined.  Her skin has gone pale with bright splashes of pink across her cheeks and chest.  Her entire body is slack and he can see her eyes are rolled back in her head.

 

Bounding out of bed, he pulls on his shorts.  She lays there, her head lolling to the side, eyes shut.  “Peggy,” he snaps.

 

Her eyes flutter open for a moment and then fall shut again.  Steve pulls on his trousers and heads to the suite’s outer door.  He yanks it open and bellows for Rose.  He has no idea if Rose is here, but presumably, someone will come.  He goes back to the bedroom and scoops Peggy into his arms, heading for the bathroom.  There’s a bottle on the counter, unlabeled and empty.  It looks like she took the whole damn thing.

 

He swears to himself then, that if Peggy lives through this, he’s going to kill her.  

 

There’s an enormous shower and he steps inside.  He tries to stand her up, but she’s completely out, dead weight, so he bands his arm around her ribs, holding her against him as he turns the water on with his other hand.  It’s cold and he steps under the spray.

 

Peggy yelps, surging against him.  But she’s out again, a moment later.  

 

“What the hell?”

 

Steve turns and see Rose standing in the doorway.  “Get a doctor,” he snaps.

 

Steve has no idea how long he stands there under the cold water, with Peggy flitting in and out of consciousness.  He keeps her talking, but she’s still slurring, her teeth chattering so hard she can barely talk, and she can't focus on him.  

 

The doctor, some guy named Erskine, finally shows up and tells Steve to turn off the water.  Erskine, Rose, and another of Peggy’s handmaids, Angie, have towels and they dry Peggy off, lying her on the tile floor.  Erskine opens his bag.

 

Steve looks at Peggy, naked and boneless on the bathroom floor, like a broken doll.  Unconscious, she looks fragile, her lips bloodless.  He realizes it’s not her physical form, but the force of her personality that makes her seem so strong. He’s lost count of how many people he watched die in the war.  He thought he was beyond the ability to react to death, but he knows he’s not.

 

Rose takes Steve aside, gives him dry clothes to change into.  By the time he’s changed, they’ve moved Peggy into her bedroom.  Steve paces in the outer room, waiting.  It takes hours.  Finally, Erskine emerges and seems shocked to find Steve still there.  

 

Steve crosses the room to meet the doctor.  “How is she?”

 

Erskine nods, guarded.  “She’ll be fine.”

 

“Does she do this often?” Steve demands.

 

Erskine’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head.  “No, to my knowledge this is the first time anything like this has happened.”  It’s clear he’s not going to say much more, so Steve heads toward Peggy’s bedroom.  Erskine catches his arm as he passes.  “I’m not sure you should - “

 

Steve yanks his arm out of Erskine’s grip.  “She’s my wife.”

 

Erskine immediately takes a deferential stance, eyes wide.  Clearly, he did not know who Steve was.  And Steve gets it.  He’s spent most of his life away from here, first in battle and then as a forgotten creature.  For the last five years, he’s lived a nomad’s life, shuffling from one contract to the next as his whims take him.  

 

But the fact that he’s chosen to live a life of anonymity doesn’t mean he is anonymous.  Peggy is a powerful woman, but she is still his wife.  He stalks away.

 

Peggy is awake and looks like she feels awful, which Steve finds deeply gratifying.  He chooses not to investigate the relief he feels.  He orders Rose and Angie out.  They both look at Peggy, expecting her to intervene, but she doesn’t.  He suspects they don’t know who he is either.  That’s fine.  They’ll figure it out soon enough.

 

When they’re gone, Steve sits down on the bed next to Peggy, frowning. “In the future, if you could avoid getting so fucked up you o.d., that would be great,” he says.  “I know you didn’t want to screw me, but I doubt you’ll have much luck getting knocked up if you’re dead.”

 

“I didn’t - “ she starts, her voice low and raspy.

 

“You did,” he counters.  He looks at her, expression hard.

 

She rolls her eyes, looking away.  “I overdid it,” she admits.

 

They’re silent for a long time.

 

“You’re brother’s condition improved,” Steve says quietly.  “They delivered a status update.  The doctors expect him to make a full recovery.  He’s being transferred home in a few days.”

 

Peggy nods and then swallows thickly.  Slowly, she rolls over onto her side, away from him.  He feels the bed start to shake with the force of her silent sobs.  

 

“ _Peg_ \- “ he starts, quietly.

 

“Get out,” she snaps, her voice cracking.  “Leave.  I don’t want you here.”

 

Steve isn’t surprised at her reaction, but it stings.  He pushes himself to his feet and leaves her room, pulling the door shut as he goes.  He stands in the outer room, surveying things.  It’s a large room.  There are two small sitting areas and then a desk and large table scattered with sheaves of paper.  Bookcases line the walls.  All in all, it’s not what he would have expected.  At least not before yesterday.

 

He suspects, that despite being married to her for two decades, these last two days have taught him more about his wife than he ever knew.  He would have expected her chambers to be feminine, whimsical, as frivolous as the young girl she once was.  This space is utilitarian, functional.  That cowering girl he wed all those years ago is gone, replaced by a formidable woman who sees him as a necessary evil.

 

The bathroom and her bedroom open directly into the main room.  But there’s a hallway lined with four doors off to the side.  Steve investigates.  The first is a dressing room, filled with clothes, shoes, jewelry and cosmetics.  The next is a closet filled with dusty boxes.  The third door is locked.  Steve considers forcing it, but decides perhaps courting her wrath further isn’t the best course of action right now, though he doesn’t rule it out completely.  The final door, at the end of the hall is another bedroom, vacant.  It looks like it’s used for storage.

 

He contemplates the room.  He has real estate holdings in the city, but he had no idea what shape they might be in.  He has no idea if Peggy has maintained them in his absence.  He suspects she has, but also suspects she rented them out, ever practical.  Either way, he really has no desire to set up house in one of the Rogers’ residences.  The last thing he wants is staring at portraits of dead relatives.  He’s the end of the line.  For now, at least.

 

Turning on his heel, Steve leaves.  Outside Peggy’s chambers, he passes Rose and tells her to have the extra room made up.  She bristles, but he suspect she will do as she’s told.  He makes the trip through the city to the rat infested little rented room where he was staying and collects his things.  They all fit in one bag.  His entire life slung over his shoulder.  Quite unexpectedly, his thoughts return to last night, in the shower, holding Peggy against his chest.  He pushes them away.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve visits the office of his solicitor, Mr. Campbell.  Campbell was formerly Steve’s mother’s solicitor.  Truthfully, Steve and Campbell have rarely been in contact.  The solicitor deals primarily with Peggy, who Steve has happily allowed to manage the Rogers’ holdings for years.  It made sense originally.  She did it on Joseph’s behalf.  And after his death, Steve never bothered to change it.

 

Campbell doesn’t seem thrilled to learn Steve is home, though Steve is accustomed to that reaction by now.  The solicitor is polite, professional.  He promises to have the latest quarterly statement couriered over to Peggy’s residence.  If he finds it odd that Steve is staying there, he hides it well.

 

The bedroom is ready when Steve arrives.  The door to Peggy’s room is still firmly shut and Rose begrudgingly informs him that Peggy hasn’t been out of her room all day.  Considering the night she had, Steve isn’t surprised.

 

Both the quarterly report and food are delivered and Steve reads while he eats.  He’s pleasantly surprised to learn that Peggy is considerably more adept at managing funds than any Rogers in five generations.  She’s turned a family coffer that once did nothing more than collect cobwebs into a considerable fortune.  He knows she did it for Joseph.  Though, Steve supposes, if they’re successful, she will pass it on to any subsequent children, leave them a legacy hopefully more auspicious than the one their brother received.

 

Steve collapses onto the bed, dozing fitfully.  

* * *

 

 

It’s late when he wakes, well past midnight.  The suite is silent.  Steve creeps down the hall and quietly opens the door to Peggy’s room.  She’s in bed, asleep.  He can hear the even cadence of her breathing.

 

He walks back down the hallway, stopping before the locked room.  He could simply force the handle, but that seems rude.  He settles for picking the lock.  He doesn’t know what he expects.  Secrets.  Perhaps to find she’s raided all the Rogers’ family heirlooms and stored them here - not that he’d even care.  Maybe he expects to find stacks of love letters from her clandestine love affairs, though he doubts she would even bother to hide them from him.

 

What he does not expect - and what he kicks himself for in retrospect - is a nursery.  It was certainly never a nursery when Steve’s mother had these rooms.

 

He stands in the middle of the room, with its child sized furniture, at a loss.  He turns on the light.  There’s a small bed, rather than a crib, against one wall.  Joseph must have stayed in here, probably until he was six or seven, old enough to have his own separate quarters down the hall.  The space is pristine.  A museum.  A mausoleum.  

 

There are pictures of their boy, so little, laughing.  One picture in particular is of him toddling, grasping Peggy’s index fingers in his little fists as he learns to walk.  His hair is white blonde, his cheeks so pink.  Both he and Peggy look radiant.  Steve knows he’s never seen her happy like that.

 

So much of the picture is a revelation.  Steve never saw Joseph as an infant or toddler.  Steve was gone for years, fighting, forgetting.  Joseph was nearly eight the first time he met Steve.  

 

After that initial meeting, Steve visited frequently, left instructions for Peggy to send the boy to him. For years, she flatly refused.  But by the time he was a teenager, Joseph wanted to join Steve, to be a soldier.  Steve knows it was the cause of endless friction between Peggy and Joseph as she fought to protect him and he fought to have his own way.

 

Steve was so careless, so callous.  The things he said to Peggy, the accusations he made.  He told her she wanted to keep Joseph weak and malleable.  Peggy argued that Joseph was too young, too inexperienced, too headstrong.  She argued that he needed more guidance than Steve could provide.  

 

In the end, she was right.  And Joseph paid the ultimate price for all their sins.

 

“Do you think me ghoulish?”

 

His head snaps around and he stares at Peggy, standing in the doorway, looking pale and drawn, wrapped, as usual, in black.  He frowns at her as she steps past him into the room.  She picks up a little bear from the bed and holds it close.

 

“I’m told I’m being macabre,” she says quietly, her voice hoarse and raspy.  “That I should pack all this away and let him rest.  Forget him.”  She turns and looks at Steve, expression defiant.  “I suppose you think that too.”

 

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.  “I have no intention of forgetting him,” he says quietly.  “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

 

She watches him and something in her features softens.  Her eyes are glassy and she looks away.  He realizes this is it, their sole point of commonality.  There is no one else in this world, or any other, who understands the pain of losing Joseph the way they both do.

 

END CHAPTER


	3. Keeping Up Appearances

Peggy is sick for days, holed up in her room.  Left entirely to his own devices, Steve eventually finds a sort of rhythm to his own life.  He starts by visiting the Rogers’ real estate holdings inventoried on Campbell’s documents.  As he figured, they’re in decent repair, and all rented out.  One of the leases is up in a few months and Steve makes a mental note to consider moving in when the tenants vacate.  He’s somewhat shocked to realize he’s making long term plans.  He can’t remember the last time he did that.  But it feels right.

 

He doesn’t know how long it will take to have however many children Peggy decides she wants.  But he assumes he’ll be required intermittently for years.  He could leave, of course.  That’s what he did previously.  But looking at those pictures of Joseph, realizing how much he missed, he doesn’t want to.  If they’re able to have more children, he intends to participate as much as Peggy will allow.

 

To Steve’s chagrin, word is slowly making the rounds that he’s back in the city.  Invitations are delivered, all of which he tells Rose to toss without bothering to open.  He thinks perhaps that softens Rose to his cause slightly.  It’s clear that everyone in Peggy’s inner circle now knows who he is.  He’s treated with, if not respect, then at the very least, no open hostility.  Well, from most people.

 

Steve is in his bedroom reading through a mountain of financial reports when he hears the outer door to Peggy’s suite open.  

 

“Is he here?”  

 

Steve knows the voice.  It’s the guy he passed in the hall that first day.  Jack.  According to Rose, Jack is some mid level government bureaucrat from the War Office with big dreams and no money.  Steve has no idea how Jack and Peggy met, and he can’t imagine they have anything in common.

 

“I think he’s out,” Peggy replies, sounding distracted and flatly uninterested in the conversation.

 

“Good,” Jack says.  Steve glances down the hall.  The angle isn’t good, but he can see Jack lean in toward Peggy.  She plants her hand in the middle of his chest and forces him back.  “What the hell?” he complains.

 

“ _ No _ ,” she says, sounding like this is a tired argument.

 

“I can’t believe you’re really going through with this,” he grouses.  “You’re not going to last a week.”

 

She finally sets down the papers she’s reading, glaring at him.  “I’m not sleeping with you, so you can leave.”

 

“What do you mean?” he demands.  “Like,  _ at all _ ?  Jesus Christ, I’ll wear a rubber.”

 

Steve can hear her sigh from down the hall.  “I am trying to have a child.  With _ my husband _ .” 

 

“Are you shitting me, Marge?” he bellows.  “If you expect - “

 

“I don’t expect anything from you, Jack,” she says, cutting across him.

 

Steve doesn’t bother looking, but he can imagine the petulant glare on Jack’s face and it brings a dark smile to his lips.  Truthfully, Steve doesn’t care who Peggy is fucking.  The guy just seems like a douche, and Steve is glad Peggy is kicking him out.

 

At least that’s what Steve tells himself.

 

* * *

 

 

More than a week later, it’s early morning when Steve lets himself into the suite.  He was out with old friends, fellow soldiers.  They had a few too many drinks.  He tries to be quiet, but he trips over a footstool, causing an ungodly racket.

 

Peggy turns on the lights, shaking her head at him.  She crosses her arms over her chest.  “I’m afraid this month was a waste,” she says tightly.  “We’ll have to try again.”

 

Steve looks at her, blinking and nods tersely.  She turns, retreating into her room, closing the door.  

 

He hadn’t expected their one night together would do the trick, especially in light of her near death experience the following day.  But it’s ... disappointing.  He’s shocked at how disappointing.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve watches Peggy across the crowded ballroom, remembering why he’s spent most of his life avoiding these spectacles.  It’s ostensibly a Valentine’s Day party, which Steve finds absolutely ridiculous.  He thinks Peggy probably does too.  In truth, it’s a party, for her brother, Michael, who has made a near miraculous recovery in the last few weeks, but who hates to be the center of attention.  

 

Steve doesn’t mind Michael.  For a Carter, he’s not half bad.  What Steve doesn’t appreciate is the looks he gets from Michael.  Like Michael expects Steve to be a monster, to do something shocking or insulting or dangerous at any turn.  He considers asking Michael if he’s bothered noticing how mercenary his baby sister has become, and how adept she is at taking care of herself.  She surrounds herself with bodyguards, for fuck’s sake.  Steve is the least of her worries.

 

But Steve doesn’t ask Michael.  He just smiles.

 

It’s been three weeks since he tripped over the footstool in Peggy’s sitting room, and their grand experiment continues.  He and Peggy spent four nights together last week.  Four very careful nights.  No ambrosia.  Not even any Scotch.  It didn’t match the intensity of their first encounter, but it’s clear that whatever else is between them, they share a staggering amount of physical chemistry.  He knows she feels it, even if she refuses to acknowledge it.

 

He wonders if Peggy is scared of him, of what might be between them.  He was irrationally irritated when she told him, that final morning, that he needn’t visit her the following night.  And it wasn’t until that moment that he realized he’d been planning on seeing her.  That he’d taken for granted that he’d be welcome in her bed.  It was clear they were both enjoying themselves.

 

He understands, in broad terms, that maintaining a level of detachment between them is probably wise.  Their marriage is not, and never was, a love match.  The best they can probably hope for is civility and even that’s a challenge most days.

 

But in those little moments, where they find some small amount of comfort with one another, he doesn’t know why they should shun that.  If things go to plan, they will be parents again.  That, in itself, will tie them together until the end of their days.  

 

But Steve also knows that he has done virtually nothing in the course of their marriage to endear himself to her.  He’s done nothing to deserve her affections.  She’s made it clear she needs him to father her children.  She’s mentioned absolutely nothing beyond that cold reality.  

 

Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself these days.  All he knows is that the life he lived for so long, the life of a soldier, isn’t what he wants.  Not anymore.  He’s tired, bone weary.  He’s sick of wandering.  He wants a place to rest.  He has little hope of Peggy welcoming him home, but he thinks it might be what he wants regardless of its feasibility.

 

“I thought you didn’t come to these things,” Sam says, coming to stand by Steve.

 

Steve cants his head to the side.  “Keeping up appearances,” he says dryly.

 

Sam makes a noncommittal grunt and Steve understands.  His entire life he’s avoided keeping up appearances.  Why should he start now?  As if on cue, across the room, Jack Thompson walks up behind Peggy and whispers something into her ear.  Steve frowns.

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Sam says.  “Okay.”

 

Steve looks over at him.

 

“Hey, man,” Sam says, “it’s your life.  Do whatever the hell you want with it.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve says tightly.

 

* * *

 

Peggy is exiting the loo when someone grabs her arm and pulls her into an empty room.  “What the hell - “  Her words are cut off when Steve kisses her, pushing her back against the wall, his hands roaming down her sides and around, cupping her ass.  She wants to punch him on principle, but finds her arms twining around his neck instead, pulling him closer.

 

He breaks off the kiss, sucking at her neck in a way that she knows is going to leave a mark.  She should really stop him.   _ Really _ .  And she might.  Later.  As much as the young girl she was prefered him in uniform, she’s found as a woman, she prefers him out of uniform.  “What are you doing?” she demands, even as she is pushing his jacket back and off his shoulders.  

 

“Fucking my wife,” he says, his words muffled by her neck.

 

Again, she wants to stop him, but instead finds herself helping him to hike up her dress.  He pulls her panties down and she steps out of them.  She watches as he shoves them in his pocket, like some kind of prize.  Which is ridiculous.  He’s the one who took her virginity twenty years ago.  It couldn’t possibly be novel at this point.  

 

So why does she like the way it makes her feel?

 

She pulls him closer and together they fumble with the fly of his trousers.  And then he’s there, hitching her leg around his waist, sliding into her like he has every right.  He’s been watching her all night.   She knows he’s pissed off that Jack showed up.   She should hate this petty jealous bullshit.  But she doesn’t.  She loves the possessive way his hands move on her body, the way he drives into her as if he’s making a point.  

 

Like she doesn’t already know she belongs to him.  Like she hasn’t _ always _ known that.

 

Her climax hits her hard and his hand covers her mouth, trying to keep her quiet.  And then he comes too, driving into her a final time, pinning her to the wall.

 

Her arm is still around his neck, her lips at his ear.  Slowly, he withdraws and lowers her leg to the floor.  He turns his head and kisses her gently, plucking at her lips.  She kisses him back, moving to accommodate him as he settles her dress back into place.  He continues to kiss her, lingering, smoldering kisses that promise more.  She finally turns her head away.  

 

He waits, to see if she’ll turn back, but she doesn’t, so he steps away, rights his trousers.

 

“I need my cloak,” she says, not looking at him, not trusting herself to look at him.

 

He nods and steps into the hall.  He’s back in mere moments, like he’s hesitant to leave her alone.  Does he think she’s going to search out Jack in this state, with her husband’s seed still damp between her thighs?  She’s brazen, but that’s too far, even for her.  

 

Also, she doesn’t want Jack.  Though she’s not going to tell Steve that.

 

“Rose is grabbing your cloak,” Steve says, returning to her side, smoothing down the hem of her dress, his touch lingering.  He waits there and she realizes he means to see her home.  She wants to give him an excuse for why he can’t, and realizes she doesn’t have one.  And then realizes she doesn’t want one.  She wants him to take her home, to let him make good on the promises his kisses made.

 

He takes the cloak from Rose and drapes it around Peggy’s shoulders, escorting her along the edge of the ballroom toward the entrance.  He tells her to wait in a darkened alcove while he arranges transportation.  

 

Michael finds her there, moments later, his features puckered with concern.  “You’re leaving,” he says, fretting.  “With him?”

 

She looks away.  Michael means well.  She knows this.  And she loves him for it.  “It’s fine.  He’s taking me home.”

 

“Peggy,” he says gently, like he’s going to explain something revelatory, which her fragile female mind is incapable of understanding.  Like she’s still a child bride, handed over to a battle hardened career soldier to further the family ambition, and she has no idea what’s coming.  That, emphatically, is not the situation.  Not any longer.

 

“Michael,” she says bluntly, “I’m leaving because I’m covered in love bites and there are cum stains on my dress.  Also, I’m hungry.  And still a little horny.”

 

He pales, looking at her. “I don’t - “ he starts. 

 

She pats him on the shoulder.  “I’m fine, Michael,” she says firmly.  “He’s my husband.  Remember.  You and Mother sold me to him.  Now, it’s none of your business.”  She steps past him and walks outside to where Steve is waiting for her.

  
END CHAPTER


	4. Viewpoints

Steve hands her the last piece of cheese and she takes it, popping it into her mouth as she lounges against the mound of pillows, watching him.  He picks up the empty tray and moves it off the bed, setting it on the floor.  It’s such a mundane moment, but one she never dreamed she would have with her husband.  

 

She watches the lines of his body as he moves.  Every time they’re apart, she thinks perhaps she’s being ridiculous, that he isn’t truly as attractive as she remembers.  And then she sees him, like this, and is convinced that he is.  Not perfect, far from it.  His body is covered with scars from countless battles.  His right eye occasionally doesn’t blink in synchronization with his left.  His nose is crooked from having been broken multiple times.  And yet, she has never wanted any man more than she wants him.

 

Peggy has learned, these last few weeks, that when they’re not fighting, she actually rather enjoys Steve’s company.  She didn’t expect that.  He’s changed, so much, from the young soldier she married.  He takes himself far less seriously.  He’s ornery and enjoys pushing people’s buttons.  He has a razor sharp wit and a smart mouth.  

 

He’s also sad and quiet.  In the way she’s often sad and quiet.  In the way that makes other people uncomfortable, but seems perfectly reasonable to them.

 

He turns back, sprawling across the bed and reaches for her, grinning wickedly.  He presses nipping kisses against her shoulder, working up toward her neck and she pretends to be unimpressed.  Rather than having his ego bruised, he simply redoubles his efforts, earning himself an appreciative sigh.

 

She loves Steve.  

 

She’s always loved him.  It’s her darkest secret, one she wouldn’t admit on pain of death.

 

She has loved him since she was fifteen and read about his exploits half a world away.  She spent years admiring him from afar.  The day she learned that her parents had arranged her marriage to him, she was ecstatic.  She vowed, that day, to be a good wife to him.  It was a childish vow from a childish girl.  She had no idea what it meant to love a man like him.  She thought of their wedding, of her dress, of the children they would have.  The idea of their marriage, their actual life together, never factored into it.

 

Peggy got her first glimmer of how ill equipped she was for a life with him at their engagement dinner.  He wanted her physically.  Even as a young woman, she knew that, even if she didn’t truly understand what it meant.  But he didn’t seem to have any interest in the things she found so ridiculously vital.  Intimacy, even compassion, seemed to make him intensely uncomfortable.  He was so restless, so driven, and she couldn’t keep up.  The things he tried to discuss with her, politics and current events - she knew nothing of them.

 

But in her naivete, Peggy held out hope that they could have a good marriage.  And then there was their disastrous wedding night.  In retrospect, she pities both of them.  And she curses her mother for sending her in so blind, with the dubious advice that it would hurt, but he would appreciate her innocence.

 

Point of fact, he did not appreciate her innocence.  He was overwhelmed by the reality that she truly knew nothing.  She had no idea what she might like, and even less about the things that might please him.  He tried, she supposes.  But he was out of his depth and she was so terrified, more of disappointing him than of the sex itself.  It was truly awful, on all sides, both of them completely mentally unequipped to deal with the other.  The fact that they managed to consummate the marriage that night still shocks her.

 

The sex eventually became, if not more enjoyable, then at least more efficient.  It was such a relief, when she finally fell pregnant.  Steve ran as fast and as far as he could.  And to her own shock, she felt gratitude when he left.  They were horrible together.  She still loved him, in her own, naive way.  She thought perhaps their child would bring him back.  

 

When Joseph was born, Peggy found that she cared less and less about Steve.  She discovered so much joy in Joseph, so much love.  And he was hers, all hers, for years.  Her love for that little boy was the most profound emotion she had ever experienced.  He gave her life shape and purpose.  He made her a better person.

 

For Joseph, Peggy became all the things she once would have thought impossible.  She tested her bounds, and discovered that while she would forever be her mother’s daughter, she no longer needed to be a pawn.  She had Steve’s name, and influence.  And the considerable fortune her family had paid him to marry her.  She thought, at first, that he might be angry, that he would punish her for acting in his name, meddling in his affairs.  He didn’t.  He seemed by degrees both indifferent and relieved when she started rebuilding the Rogers’ holdings.  And she was good at it.

 

She realized, with a shock, that Steve, for all his faults, was the one person in her life who never sought to control her.  She had cursed him for his indifference, but she slowly realized what a blessing it was.  He wasn’t intimidated or threatened by her taking action.  If he had a problem with something she did, he would speak up, but he largely didn’t care.  And he was away for years at a time.

 

Steve came home, shortly after his mother passed away.  He was lost, she knew.  But she had no idea how to offer him comfort.  She thought he might come to her, but he didn’t.  Knowing what she knows now, she suspects he thought he was sparing her some horror.  In his defense, it was a reasonable assumption, given the early days of their marriage.  And she didn’t push it, not wanting to be reminded that he didn’t want her.

 

For as much as Peggy couldn't get through to him, Joseph could.  Steve found something in Joseph, something to truly love, probably for the first time in his life.  It was the first time Peggy felt like she understood any part of her husband.  Steve and Joseph were so much alike, in both looks and temperament.  It didn’t matter to Joseph that Steve had been absent for most of his life.  Joseph loved him.  And Steve loved him in return, without reservation.

 

It might all have worked out.  They might have somehow found a way to be a family together.  But Steve was still so unsettled, unable to stay in one place.  He found excuses to leave, constantly.  She was disappointed, but not shocked.  And she would never have dared intervene, except now he wanted to take Joseph with him.  

 

That, she would not allow.  She would not have him dragging her son along on his adventures.

 

The first time he broached the subject, they fought bitterly.  It was the first disagreement they’d ever had, the first time both of them had pushed and neither had backed down.  And for as angry as Steve was with her, Peggy had the feeling that he was somehow grateful that she cared enough to try and protect Joseph.  She knew that Steve had spent his formative years dragged from outpost to outpost with his father.  She wondered, if his mother had even wanted him, or if she was glad to be done with him.  Either way, it didn’t matter.  Peggy wasn’t going to allow him to take Joseph.  Not as long as she drew breath.

 

That night, he came to her, for the first time since Joseph was born.  Any other night, she would have welcomed him gladly.  But he had threatened to take her son, and she would not forgive that.  It was the first time in their entire relationship that she ever rebuffed his advances.  

 

She knew he found companionship elsewhere.  It was a matter of days later when she took her first lover.  She cried, afterward, but vowed she would not spend her life being Steve Rogers’ sad, faithful wife.  She was done with being what people wanted, or expected, or needed.  She had to forge her own way.

 

Years of hostility between her and Steve followed.  They used Joseph to hurt one another.  It shames Peggy deeply that she allowed her son to be used in such a way, that she used him in such a way.   Peggy knew Steve had the best of intentions as a father, but he was so ill equipped to deal with a child who needed so much guidance.  From all accounts, Steve’s own parents had done an abysmal job.  He had no reference points.

 

But Joseph loved Steve so much, wanted so desperately to be like him.  Peggy was so afraid, so angry.  She forbade Joseph to go, but it was like talking to a brick wall.  His mind was set.  Their last conversation was a fight, their last words were spoken in anger.

 

She knew, when Steve showed up at her door months later, that her life, as she knew it, was done.  She remembers him so clearly, standing there, his skin so pale, his features so blank.  Even now, she finds it difficult to believe that he managed to do it, that he’s the one who told her their son was dead.  She doesn’t remember what she said to him, but she can imagine.  She knows it must have been the most bitter vitriol she could devise.  And he took it all.  He never argued, not once.  Never made a single excuse.  He shouldered it all.  

 

Of all the times for him to show up.

 

Hindsight is such a mixed blessing.  She can see now, how she spent years wanting Steve to change, wanting him to be something other than who he was.  It wasn’t until Joseph was a teenager that she truly appreciated the folly of that hope.  There is no changing anyone.  The choice is to accept them as they are, or walk away forever.

 

She could divorce Steve.  He wouldn’t fight her.  She could remarry, find someone compatible, or malleable, or powerful.  She could find any number of potential partners who are a better fit for her than Steve Rogers.  

 

But she wants him.  After everything that has happened between them, she still wants him.  Maybe _because_ of everything that’s happened between them.

 

It’s not just the sex.  Truthfully, before he finally responded to her summons, neither of them had any idea that sex between them could be anything other than a complete disaster.  That first night, she expected it to be awful.  She expected him to have to force himself to touch her.  She expected to not want him.  They were both shocked.  And she, at least, was scared by the force of their attraction.  

 

She doesn’t think he’s scared.  And she’s not sure what to do with that.

 

Each of them have spent their entire marriage broken, in incompatible ways.  But now, with Joseph gone, they’re broken in the same way.  In a way that no one else is broken.  It’s its own bond, for better or for worse, something that can never be taken from them.

 

He kisses her and she threads her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.  He pulls back, far enough to look at her.  “Let me stay,” he says.  “Tonight.”

 

She wants to tell him no.  She needs to tell him no.  But instead, she nods and pulls him down for another kiss.

 

* * *

 

Days later, he walks into her bedroom, hair damp, towel slung low across his hips.  He is still the most attractive man she’s ever seen.  Certainly the most attractive lover she’s ever had.  Peggy stops, looking at the muscled planes of his back.   _Lover_.  When, exactly, did her estranged husband become her lover?  She’s not sure.  But there’s little denying it at this point.  

 

Still, the realization makes her uncomfortable.  She shifts, rolling onto her side, away from him.  It’s late and she’s exhausted.  “I’m tired,” she says, pulling the blankets up to her ear.

 

“Okay,” he says.  He turns off the light and, rather than leaving, slides beneath the covers.

 

She sighs, hoping he will get the hint and leave.

 

He doesn’t leave.  Instead he reaches out and starts kneading the muscles at the base of her skull.  She wants to push him away, but it feels so good and she melts under his touch.  He rubs her neck and her shoulders, then down her spine.  She’s achy and irritable and she nearly weeps with relief as his thumbs dig into the knotted muscles of her lower back.  

 

She’s late, only a couple of days, but it’s been nerve wracking.  She hasn’t told Steve yet.  She doesn’t want to say anything to anyone until she knows.

 

She’s dozing, only half awake, by the time he finally stops.  She wonders if he’ll try something, but he simply settles his arm across her hips and falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy is already up when Steve wakes.  He throws on a pair of trousers and walks out into the outer room.  Peggy’s various handmaids and staff have finally stopped coming and going in her suite as they choose.  He doesn’t know if she gave them new instructions, or if they finally got tired of walking in on them in flagrante.  Though he supposes it’s not that scandalous.  A husband and wife having sex.  Even if they’ve been at each other’s throats for the last decade.

 

Steve pours himself a cup of coffee and starts leafing through the reports on Peggy’s desk.  The amount of intelligence reports she pores through on a day to day basis is staggering.  She probably has half the city under her thumb.

 

He hears the bathroom door open and turns.  Peggy is standing there, wrapped in her robe.  She looks upset and he sets his coffee down and crosses the room toward her.

 

She turns away, heading for her dressing room.  “No luck this month,” she says tightly.

 

He reaches out, lightly grasping the fingertips of her left hand as she passes.  She turns and looks at him, expression mutinous.  He draws her closer and leans down, kissing her on the forehead, wrapping his arms around her.  She finally releases a breath and sags against him.  She stays there for a long time, letting him hold her.

 

“Apparently I’m not eighteen anymore,” she says quietly.  “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize to me, Peggy,” he says evenly.  “You’re the one who wants more children.  I just want you.”

 

She pulls back and looks at him, her expression tight, wary.  He meets her gaze, evenly.  He knows it’s the most he’s ever said on the subject.  Fuck.  Twenty years and this is as close as he’s ever come to telling her he cares about her.  He’s not sure when he started caring about her.  But he does.  He wants her.  He wants to be with her, as much as she’ll allow.

 

He leans in, waiting to see if she’s going to bolt, but she just watches him.  Slowly, he presses his lips to hers.  She returns the kiss slowly, carefully.  Then she pulls away and turns toward her dressing room.

 

* * *

 

Later in the day, Steve looks at the notice from Mr. Campbell, the solicitor.  The property Steve considered moving into weeks earlier is set to be vacated at the end of the month.  He has to decide if he wants to move into the apartment, or find a new tenant.

 

“What’re you doing?” Peggy asks.  She’s lying on the couch, clearly in a funk.  She wants more children.  Even though Steve doesn’t share her drive, he understands it’s important to her, and she’s upset that it’s not happening quickly.  Though he’s reasonably sure at this point that her impatience isn’t driven by the fact that she wants to avoid sex with him.  She wants him as much as he wants her.  There are few things Steve has enjoyed as much as learning what makes Peggy burn.  And he has learned well.

 

Carefully, Steve explains the situation with the apartment to her.  She listens, her expression blank.  

 

“Well?” he asks.

 

“Well what?”

 

He sighs.  “Do you want me to move out?”

 

“I don’t want you to do anything, Steve,” she says tartly.  “Not one thing.  You’ve always done precisely as you wish.  I assume you will continue to do that.”

 

He growls in frustration and crosses the room to her.  He climbs onto the couch with her, forcing her to scoot over, ignoring her grousing.  He wraps himself around her, nipping at the edge of her jaw, just under her ear.  “I’m asking if you want me here, or if you want me gone.”

 

She sighs, dramatically, but he can feel her relax.  “It is rather convenient,” she admits.  “Having you here.”

 

“Just convenient,” he fishes.

 

“Well, yes,” she says haughtily.  “And I suppose I am rather ... attached ... to certain parts of you.”

 

“Just parts?” he prompts, kissing her neck, his hand roaming down her side, over her thighs.  He plucks at the waistband of the pants she wears.  “Which parts?”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” she whines.  “Not now. It’s - “

 

He kisses her.  “It’s what?”  He captures her lips again, his tongue tangling with hers.  

 

Her breath is coming short and she’s arching into his touch.  “ _Steve_ ,” she whines again, pushing very halfheartedly at his chest.  “I can’t.”

 

He snorts and stands up, scooping her into his arms.

 

“What are you doing?” she demands, clearly scandalized, though she wraps her arm around his neck.

 

He smiles at her, completely amused as he crosses the room.  “We’re gonna take a shower,” he informs her.

 

Her eyes are wide and she just stares at him, mouth open.  “You can’t be serious,” she hisses.

 

He shrugs, setting her down lightly in the bathroom.  “Clearly you’re underestimating how much I want to have sex with you right now,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor.

 

She just blinks at him, watching as he undoes the fly of his trousers and shoves them, and his shorts, down his hips.  He knows it’s pretty damn clear he wants her.  He looks at her.  She has way too many clothes on.  “If _I_ was bleeding to death, I wouldn’t stop,” he says.  “And you’re not bleeding to death.”

 

She shakes her head as he reaches for her.  “You’re unbelievable.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” he says nodding.  “Now take your clothes off.”

 

END CHAPTER


	5. So Goes My Nation

It’s a week after the shower stall sex when Jack shows up again.  He has some excuse, completely flimsy.  But he arrives shortly after Steve leaves, so she knows he’s either watching the house, or somehow has access to Steve’s schedule.  Both options are problematic, and pointless.

 

“You know,” Jack says, “if Rogers can’t get the job done, I’m happy to help.”

 

Peggy rolls her eyes without bothering to look at him.  She hasn’t mentioned anything about her and Steve’s attempts at having a child since before they started.  And she regrets saying what little she did.  Jack files everything away.  “Yes, well, tempting as that is,” she says.  “I’ll pass.”

 

“Come on, Marge,” he says, sitting down next to her on the sofa, putting his feet on the coffee table.  “You can’t be serious with this.”

 

“Serious with what, Jack?” she asks, frowning at him.  He just got here and her patience is already wearing thin.  She’s supposed to have drinks tonight with Sif, Angie and Rose.  Not precisely a friendly outing, since they work for her, but a nice change of pace.  She needs to get ready and stop wasting time with Jack.

 

“With Rogers,” he says, nearly scoffing.  “He’s your  _ husband _ .”

 

She gives him a tight smile.  “I already knew that.  It is rather the point of the exercise.”

 

Jack shakes his head, irritated.  He’s still put out that she’s refusing to sleep with him, though she’s not sure why.  She knows he hasn’t been lonely.  And it’s not like their arrangement was ever exclusive.  They met through their respective Council responsibilities, several years ago, and enjoyed one another’s company.  They had a casual, sexual relationship.  It hardly warrants him hounding her now.

 

“The point,” Jack says, “is that he abandoned you.”

 

She arches an eyebrow at him.

 

He smiles darkly.  “I went through public records, found the paperwork you filed to become head of the Rogers’ family trust.  Marital abandonment,” he says, smug.  “So that can mean that he’s MIA, unable to sign paperwork.”  He sighs.  “But it also implies that he wasn’t layin’ it to ya.”

 

She doesn’t respond.  She simply stares at him.

 

“So my question,” Jack continues, “is if the guy went out of his way to avoid having to fulfill his duties, why are you giving him another chance now?”

 

“You don’t know anything,” she says tightly.

 

He studies her for a long moment.  “I think I do.”

 

She stands, crossing her arms over her chest.  “You need to leave.”

 

Jack looks up at her, but he doesn’t say anything.  He looks pleased with himself, which she hates, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of her anger.  She watches as he walks to the door, nodding to her as he leaves.

 

Peggy stands there, looking at nothing.  She picks up the phone on her desk and leaves instructions with Daniel that Jack shouldn’t be admitted again without her explicit approval.  She sighs, turning.  She walks down the hall and stops in front of the third door.  Slowly, she opens it.  She never bothered to lock it again after Steve snuck in here.

 

The nursery looks the same as it did the night Steve saw it.  The same as it’s looked since Joseph moved out a decade ago.  All of his baby things are here, the things he was too big to take with him when he moved into his “real” room.  She used to sleep in here with him, in this tiny little bed, when he’d have nightmares.  And she did it all alone.  Because Steve wasn’t part of their lives.

 

Does she really want to do that again?

 

She wonders why Steve thinks she wants another child.  That first day, she knows what he thought.  She knows he thought it was part of some scheme she had for world domination or something equally absurd.  She’s not sure what he thinks now.  She doesn’t know if she could explain it to him, even if she tried.  Why would she risk that again?  She knows the pain of losing her son.  Truthfully, it wasn’t even pain.  It absolutely destroyed some part of her.  And she will never recover, no matter how many more children she has, or doesn’t have.  Joseph is dead and nothing can change that.

 

But she remembers what it was like to hold him, to watch him grow.  She remembers what it was like to love someone so completely, and to be loved in return.  And she wants that, even knowing it might not last, she wants it.  

 

She’s not sure why she decided Steve needed to be part of the process.  She knows he never would have said anything if she’d chosen to have more children with someone else.  He probably wouldn’t have even bothered to divorce her.  But she wanted him.  Maybe to punish him.  Maybe to try and salvage whatever was left of his humanity.  She doesn’t know.

 

But she wonders if this entire exercise has been a gigantic mistake.

 

She takes a deep breath and blinks quickly.  Jack has always had a knack for honing in on a person’s rawest memory.  She and Steve have been good.  They’ve been better than good, lately.  She thinks maybe she’s falling for him.   _ Really _ falling for him, not caught up in a little girl’s pipe dreams.  But Jack, as always, can find the festering wound.  Why is she willing to entertain the idea of giving it another shot with Steve after everything that’s happened?

 

“Why was he here?”

 

Peggy turns around and looks at Steve, standing in the doorway.  He’s angry.  He must have passed Jack in the hall.  She turns away.

 

“ _ Peggy _ .”

 

She looks at him again, shaking her head.  Of all the times for some ridiculous macho bullshit, while she’s standing here surrounded by her dead son’s stuffed animals.  “You’re seriously going to do this now?   _ Here _ ?”

 

“I’m not  _ doing _ anything,” he says.  “I’m asking a question.”

 

“I didn’t fuck Jack Thompson if that’s what you’re asking,” she says, pushing past him and back out into the hall.  She walks to her dressing room and he follows.  

 

“What did he want?” he asks.

 

“He didn’t want anything, Steve,” she says tightly, thumbing through racks of shirts and skirts.  She turns and looks at him.  “He just asked me a question.”

 

Steve crosses his arms over his chest.  “And what was that?”

 

She blinks at him.  “He asked why I’d give it another shot with the man who abandoned me.”

 

Steve looks away, staring blindly at row of shoes.  He looks back at her.  “And what did you say?”

 

She shrugs, turning back to the rack, pulling out a black pencil skirt and black sweater.  “I didn’t say anything,” she says.  “But he had a point.”

 

* * *

 

“Yes?” Peggy asks, finishing the gin and tonic and setting the empty glass on the small table.  The bar is dark and there is a jazz band playing.

 

Sif looks at her, arching an eyebrow.

 

“You’re not saying anything,” Peggy says.  

 

“Well,” Sif says, perpetually unperturbed, “Angie’s saying enough for all of us.”

 

That’s undoubtedly true.  Angie has been telling Peggy, all evening, what Peggy needs to do with her life, and with Steve, and with Jack.  Though Peggy’s noticed that the advice tends to shift depending on how drunk Angie is at any given point.  Angie and Rose have just left for the loo, leaving Peggy and Sif to watch the drinks.

 

“That’s not an answer,” Peggy says.

 

Sif looks at her, her lips puckering into a frown as she spins her drink around on its coaster.  “What do you want?” she asks.

 

“Right now,” Peggy says flatly, “to get laid.”  Her boobs hurt, her temper is waspish and she’s horny as hell.

 

“It seems like you probably have multiple options, then,” Sif says evenly.  “If that’s all you want.”  She looks pointedly at Peggy.  “Are you truly indifferent to your partner, or do you have one in mind?”

 

Peggy frowns.

 

“Pretending you don’t want Steve won’t change the reality that you do,” Sif says.

 

“And you’re not going to warn me off him?” Peggy asks.  “You’re not going to remind me what a shit husband he’s been?”

 

Sif looks at her.  “Do you need reminding?  I assumed you already knew that.”

 

“I do know,” Peggy snaps.

 

“Well, then,” Sif replies evenly, “if you’ve invited him back into your life, you probably have a reason.”

 

Peggy tips the waitress as she brings a fresh drink.  She takes a sip.  “He’s the only person who misses Joseph the same way I miss him.”  She looks at Sif.

 

Sif nods, takes a sip of her own drink.  “Is that all?”

 

She sighs.  “At first.  And now ... “  She shakes her head.  

 

“You care for him.”

 

“I’ve always cared for him,” Peggy says quietly.

 

Sif narrows her eyes.  “Yes, but it’s different now, isn’t it?”

 

Peggy looks away.  “Yes,” she says.  “It’s different now.”  Now she’s afraid she loves  _ him _ , not just the idea of him.

 

Sif takes a deep breath.  “He’s no more the same boy he was when you married than you are the same girl.  People change.  Time changes them.  Circumstances change them.  Leave the past where it is and ask yourself if the man you know today is the man you want.”

 

Peggy takes another drink.  “I thought people who ignored the past were doomed to repeat it.”

 

“I thought you were  _ trying _ to repeat it,” Sif counters.

 

Peggy shakes her head, takes another drink.

 

“Peggy,” Sif says quietly, “you’re the only person who can decide what you want.  And you’re the one who will have to live with the consequences.”

 

* * *

 

Steve is sitting on the couch when she enters the room and from the look of it, he’s been stewing there for most of the night.  She wonders where he thinks she went.  Probably out with Jack.  It would have served him right.  Though if he’d have asked, she would have told him it was a girls’ night out.

 

“I thought you might be asleep,” she says.

 

He gives her a tight smile and shrugs.  “You told me this morning that you would require my services tonight.  I aim to please.”

 

She looks at him and nods, refusing to rise to the bait.  She wants to get laid, not to fight.  She pulls her sweater over her head, leaving her in a black bra and her black pencil skirt.  She’s wearing heels, but no stockings.  She walks over to her desk, takes a wide stance and leans across the top, pillowing her head on her arms, her ass in the air.  She looks back at him.  “By all means.”

 

She hears him curse, but his hands are on her hips in no time.  He pulls her back against him, rubbing against her through both their clothes.  She releases a shuddering breath.  She wants him so much.  “ _ Please, Steve _ .”

 

He skims her skirt up until it bunches around her waist.  She’s not wearing underwear and she hears him curse again.  He rubs her with one hand as the other loosens his fly.  She shifts her weight back and forth impatiently.

 

“You didn’t take any ambrosia, did you?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

 

She chuckles darkly.  “I don’t need it to want to fuck you, Steve.”

 

Then his hand is on her hip, biting into her flesh as the other hand guides him to her entrance.  She moans, trying to push back against him and he grabs her hips in both hands and thrusts into her.

 

She cries out and pushes back against him.  In this position, she can take him deeper, he can thrust harder.  It’s less intimate, more animalistic.  Exactly what she wants.

 

He slams against her, skirting the line between pleasure and pain, making her moan.  She’s been on edge all day.  The feel of him there, where she wants him, and  _ only _ him.  She tips over into climax, hissing his name.  

 

She hears his breath catch, but he continues to drive into her until the moment passes and she’s nearly boneless.  Then he slows, pulls her to him and then lowers them both to the floor.  He kisses her, long and deep, sliding into her again, setting a leisurely pace.  He takes his time, teasing, coaxing.  He brings her to the edge, but doesn’t let her tip over until she begs.  

 

She begs, completely shameless, and he gives her what she wants.

 

And then he follows her into oblivion.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, they’re curled together in her bed, him spooned behind her.  Their hands are twined together and he presses a kiss to her shoulder.  It’s dark and it feels like they’re the only two people in the world.

 

“Why didn’t you come home after Joseph was born?” she asks, before she can think better of it.

 

He’s quiet and she can feel the tension in his body.  “Cowardice,” he says.  “I didn’t think you wanted me there.  And I didn’t want to be where I wasn’t wanted.”

 

She rolls onto her back far enough that she can look at him.  She reaches up and touches his cheek lightly.  “Why would you think that?”

 

He laughs mirthlessly.  “Peggy, you cried every time I came near you.”

 

“Not ...  _ every _ time,” she says.  She sighs, leaning against him heavily.  His palm traces across her stomach and up, until he can cup a breast.  In the dark, she rolls her eyes.  “I didn’t know  _ anything _ ,” she says.  “I mean, I knew I was a disappointment.  I just wanted to make you happy.”

 

He sighs.  “Nothing could have made me happy.  Not then.”  He takes a breath.  “But I always wanted you.   _ Always _ .  I just wished you wouldn’t cry every time I took my clothes off.’

 

She laughs, a full on guffaw.  That’s not how she remembers it.  She remembers tears one time, and that was actually after the sex, when he made a disparaging comment about one of her dresses.  Then, as now, she was quite fond of seeing him naked.

 

“You’re not making it any better, you know,” he says sourly.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says gently.  She kisses the end of his nose.

 

“Thank you,” he says, and she can hear the frown in his voice.  He holds her tighter, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.  “I’m sorry, Peggy,” he says.  “I love you.  I never meant - “

 

It’s too much and her heart is pounding in her chest.  She silences him with a kiss.  She can’t hear this from him, not now.  

 

Maybe not ever.

 

She rolls him onto his back and crawls on top of him.  She keeps his mouth busy until whatever he intended to say is forgotten.

 

* * *

 

“You’re leaving,” Peggy says, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks at him.  His bag is on the bed and he’s folding clothes and packing them in.

 

He looks up at her, surprised, and his lips purse into a frown.  “Not leaving,” he says tightly.  “I have to take care of a job.  I’ll be back.”

 

“I’m fairly certain I’ve heard that before,” she says, turning on her heel and leaving.  

 

She hears him curse and he follows her out.  “Peggy.”  He reaches for her hand.

 

She pulls away, turning to face him, crossing her arms over her chest again.  “I don’t expect you to hang around waiting to service me,” she says dryly.  “But I do expect the common courtesy of you telling me what’s going on.  If I hadn’t walked in right now, would you have even told me?  Or would you have left a note with Rose?”

 

“It just came up,” he says tightly.  But he won’t meet her gaze and she thinks she’s probably pretty spot on about leaving a note with Rose.  “Look,” he says.  “It won’t be long.  A week tops.”

 

“What is it?” she asks.  “I know you were discharged years ago, so it’s not official.”

 

He sighs, putting his hands on his hips.  “No, not official.  Off book.”

 

“Oh, so you’re a mercenary now,” she says.  “That’s lovely.”

 

“I’m not a merc,” he says tightly.  “Look, I owe Natasha a favor.  She called it in.  I have to help her.”

 

Natasha.  Peggy knows who Natasha is, by reputation.  They’ve never met and Peggy hopes to keep it that way.  She certainly doesn’t think Steve lived like a monk while they were apart, but she doesn’t want to have to meet any of them.  “Don’t let me stand in your way,” she says.  

 

Things have been strained, ever since he said he loved her.  Peggy isn’t sure what possessed him to say it and she wishes like hell he hadn’t.  But he can’t take it back.  So now it’s sitting there between them, like an albatross.

 

He sighs and steps closer to her, slowly.  She stands her ground, watching him.  Cautiously, he leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.  Then another.  And another.  She finally sighs and turns her head, giving him a proper kiss.  

 

He reaches around and grabs her ass and then pulls back and winks.  “I’ll be back.  I promise.”

 

END CHAPTER


	6. Darkest Depths

Peggy looks down at the piece of paper.  An impromptu Council meeting.  Not exactly what she had on the agenda for the day, but she supposes needs must.  Sif arrives with Daniel and they take a private car across the city.

 

Jack is there, as usual, watching, playing lackey for Vernon Masters.  Peggy knows Jack hates it, but you’d never know from looking at him.  Jack plays his role to perfection.

 

After the meeting, Howard invites Peggy out for a drink and she accepts, partly out of boredom and partly to avoid Jack.  Howard is a letcher and a lush, but he’s probably the closest thing she has to a true friend.  

 

Howard spends the bulk of the evening pointedly not asking about Steve, which Peggy appreciates.  She could do without the waitresses he pulls into his lap.  At least he knows better than to tangle with Sif.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Peggy is standing in the nursery again.  

 

Steve isn’t home.  

 

There’s been no word from him. 

 

She wants to be immune to the hurt it causes, but she isn’t.  It wasn’t that she believed him when he said he’d be back in a week.  It was the look on his face when he said it, so sure.  He even looked like he’d actually miss her.  She feels like an idiot for believing in  _ that _ .

 

She feels like an idiot for wanting to believe Steve was being honest when he said he loved her.

 

It doesn’t help that she feels awful, achy and crampy.  Her breasts are killing her.  What made her think it would be easy to have a child at this age?  Yes, it happened quickly the first time, but she’d been a child herself.  She wishes like hell she’d just start bleeding so she could be done with it.  Done with Steve.  Done with the entire fucking thing.

 

She looks around the little room.  Maybe she should pack it all up.  Maybe she should let Joseph go, let this madness go.  What business does she have with a baby at this point in her life?  She clearly didn’t do a very good job the first time.  And it’s not like the intervening years have improved anything.  At the moment, her relationship with her husband is more dysfunctional than ever, whether he knows it or not.  And she’s still all alone.

 

Peggy sighs, unable to touch a single thing in the little room.  Maybe it is time to let it go.  But it’s not going to happen today.

 

She walks back down the hall, stopping in her dressing room to take off her shoes.  On the vanity, she sees Steve’s dogtags.  She crosses the room and stares down at them, frowning.  They were in his bag and he dumped them out when he was packing.  She relocated them to her vanity for safekeeping.  As if she’s ever been particularly adept at keeping his possessions safe.

 

Carefully, she picks the dogtags up, rubbing the smooth metal between her thumb and forefinger.  She wonders where he is.  And even though she hates herself for it, she wonders if he’s okay.  

 

He’s probably fine.  She knows that.  He’s probably in a bar somewhere.  Or in bed with someone.  Or having a grand time playing soldier.

 

She’s known, for a while, that she loves him.  Not the love she’s felt for him for most of her life.  Something grittier and infinitely more real.  Something that she thought was mutual.

 

She hates herself for loving him, but there doesn’t seem to be anything she can do about it.  She blinks quickly against the burn of tears.  Why did he toy with her emotions?  Why did he bother to say he loved her, if he was simply going to vanish again?  She made it clear time and time again that she did not require affection or emotion from him.  

 

But he said it.  And damn her, because she believed him.

 

It’s just as well that she hasn’t managed to get pregnant.  And it’s a blessing that Steve has shown his true colors.  Better she know now.  Better she have the chance to wrap it all up neatly and walk away forever.

 

She sets the dogtags down and leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

“What is with you, English?” Angie snaps.

 

Peggy frowns at her.  

 

Angie seems to remember and her expression softens.  “Guess you haven’t heard anything from him, huh?”

 

Peggy turns away, walking to her room.  She is not discussing this.  She closes the door to her bedroom and crawls into bed.  No, she still hasn’t heard anything from Steve.  She could ask around.  But she hasn’t.  His favor was off book.  Presumably sending people looking for him would do no one any good.  But more than that, she’s fairly certain she doesn’t want to know where he is.  She doesn’t want to find out he’s prioritized his mission over her yet again.  She’s had enough of that to last her a lifetime.

 

She curls into a little ball.  She’s bleeding.  But it’s like last month, sporadic, painful.  And she feels worse than ever.  Her hips ache so badly she fights back tears.  Maybe she’s entering a new phase of her life.  Maybe her body is simply giving up the ghost entirely.  It wouldn’t shock her.  It would seem par for the course.  

 

There’s a perfunctory knock at the door and Sif walks in.  She closes the door behind herself and takes a seat on the bed near Peggy.  “You should see a doctor.”

 

“I’m not seeing a doctor,” Peggy replies.

 

“Maybe you’re pregnant.”

 

“I’m not pregnant,” Peggy grinds out.  “I’m bleeding.”

 

“It’s possible - “ Sif starts.

 

“I’m not!” Peggy snaps, pushing herself into a sitting position.  She shakes her head.  “I’m not.  I’ve been pregnant before, okay?  This isn’t what it feels like.”

 

Sif’s lips purse into a frown, but she doesn’t say anything.

 

* * *

 

Another week passes and there’s still no word from Steve.  Peggy feels like she’s run the gamut of emotions.  She’s been angry, lonely, scared.  She’s come back around to anger.  And disgust.  She’s certain he’s fine, probably doesn’t have a care in the world.  But she can’t seem to stop herself from worrying about him.

 

In one of her weaker moments, she had Daniel pull everything he had on Natasha Romanoff.  It is precisely what Peggy expected.  Natasha’s file is full of surveillance pictures of her with Steve.  It seems that they were often paired together on missions. They look like a solid team.  There is an obvious rapport.  Shared life experience.  Steve likes Natasha.  In addition to whatever else is between them, they are friends.  And that makes Peggy more jealous than anything else in the file.

 

Her anger and hurt fester and grow.  She should find someone new, she thinks, or someone old.  When did she let herself become this weak weeping creature again?  She’s done it before, forged a new existence for herself.  It’s not easy.  She knows that.  But sometimes it’s necessary.  She has to move on.  She refuses to waste any more years waiting on Steve to come home.

 

* * *

 

“Why are we here?” Sif asks, looking at Peggy as she takes a seat next to her on the small sofa.  The club is crowded and dark.  The music is loud.

 

“I need a change of pace,” Peggy says firmly.  

 

“You look miserable,” Sif observes flatly.  “You should go home.”

 

Peggy glares at her.  She opens her clutch and removes the vial, uncorking it and pouring it in her drink.

 

Sif arches an eyebrow.  “That isn’t - “

 

“Oh yes it is,” Peggy replies firmly.  Ambrosia.  She tosses back the rest of her drink in a single shot.  She swore off ambrosia after her last experience, but the fact of the matter is that while her head is committed to the evening’s course of action, her body and her heart are not.  The heart she can’t do anything about.  She loves Steve.  She may love him for the rest of her life.  But she won’t be a slave to it.  Her body, however.   There are chemicals for that.

 

Almost to Peggy’s surprise, the drug does exactly what it’s supposed to do.  She feels lighter, freer.  She is certainly more receptive to flirtatious glances.  There’s a young man at the bar, tall with dark hair and a fantastic physique.  He smiles at her and she smiles back.

 

He picks up his drink and starts across the bar toward her, but Peggy’s view is rudely interrupted.  She looks up at Jack as he slides into the seat next to her.

 

“Marge,” he says smoothly.

 

Oh, she wants to hate him, but the drugs make it difficult.  And he is attractive in spite of everything else.  

 

He smiles and leans in close to her.  “Guess you’re having a party over there,” he says.  His breath is warm against her neck and she shivers.

 

“For the love of God,” Peggy hears Sif curse.

 

Jack leans in and Peggy kisses him, threading her fingers through his hair.  He’s a good kisser, very talented.  But it’s different from kissing Steve.  Jack may have better technique, but Steve’s kisses make Peggy’s blood boil in a way that Jack’s never will, not even with the ambrosia.  

 

Angrily, Peggy pushes away the thoughts of Steve.  She doesn’t want to think of him right now.  But just the thought of him has her aching for him.  

 

Steve’s not here.

 

He’s supposed to be here.

 

But he’s not.

 

Peggy surges to her feet, grabbing Jack and pulling him with her.  He has no trouble following the direction of her thoughts and he pulls her toward a hallway.  She has no idea what it is, a broom closet most likely.  She can’t see because it’s too dark.  But dark is good.  Dark is better.

 

She runs her hands up under his shirt, over his back and she can’t keep from noting that he’s considerably more slender than Steve.  Not that Jack doesn’t have a fine body.  It’s just not ... Steve.  He kisses her, his hands under her skirt, rubbing her intimately.  She moans loudly, clutching him tighter.

 

“Fuck, I missed you,” he curses, pressing closer.

 

She fumbles with the fly of his trousers, pushing them down, stroking him firmly.

 

He shoves her panties to the side and drives into her.  It’s uncomfortable but she doesn’t care.

 

“Fuck, Peggy,” he hisses.  “I knew.”

 

She kisses him again, biting down on his lip.

 

“I knew if I could get Rogers out of the way, you’d come back.”

 

The words take a while to permeate Peggy’s mind.  Jack is still driving into her, but she plants her hand in his chest and pushes.  Jack presses in closer.  

 

Peggy shoves him as hard as she can, sending him stumbling backward as she yanks her skirt down.  “What did you say?” she demands.  The ambrosia makes it hard to think.

 

She can hear Jack breathing, but he doesn’t say anything.  She opens the door, letting in light.  He’s leaning against the far wall, buttoning his trousers.

 

“What did you say?” she says again.  She can see Sif in the hallway, watching.

 

“Fuck,” Jack curses, dragging his hand through his hair.  His jaw is clenched tight, the muscles standing out in harsh relief.

 

Peggy shakes her head, stumbling out into the hallway.  “Sif,” she says, “bring him along.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy feels hot and cold shivers, the lingering effects of the ambrosia.  But she’s under control again.  Which is somewhat unfortunate.  Because she’s afraid she’s going to be sick.  She screwed Jack.  She - 

 

She pushes the thought away and crosses her arms over her chest.  “Where is he?”

 

Jack scowls, pursing his lips together.

 

“Can I try now?” Dottie asks sweetly.

 

Peggy looks over at her.  She’s a psychopath.  She would not hesitate for a moment to kill Jack.  “Find out where Steve is,” Peggy says to Dottie.  “Use whatever means you deem necessary.”

 

* * *

 

“Peg, you can’t just march in there,” Daniel tells her, frowning.

 

“ _ Just, _ ” Peggy says, aware of how shrill her voice sounds as she pounds on her desk.  “ _ Just _ ?  Daniel, it’s been weeks.  There’s no  _ just _ about it.  We have to get him out of there.”

 

Daniel frowns, rubbing his forehead.  She knows he’s doing his best.  It wasn’t easy to untangle Jack’s web.  It took them a week to figure out who took Steve.  And then another week to figure where they put him.  The answer wasn’t reassuring.  A prison camp, on the outer edges of civilization.  Peggy has spent the last week calling in every favor she has, trying to secure Steve’s release.  It hasn’t been easy, but she thinks they’re close.  Howard is not going to be pleased with the concessions they’re going to have to give the Russians.

 

Peggy slumps back in her chair.  Across the room, Sif simply watches.  Jack’s in a Council holding cell, much to the chagrin of Vernon Masters.  Some ridiculous charge, misappropriation of resources.  Daniel had a pained expression when Peggy asked, and she didn’t pressing for clarification.  She still doesn’t know what Steve’s off book op was.  She suspects it wasn’t good.  She knows half the problem with trying to secure his release is that they can’t officially admit that the Soviets have him.

 

And Natasha.

 

Peggy has been adamant that they secure Natasha’s release as well.  Peggy feels absolutely vile for thinking the worst of Steve.  Not that he didn’t deserve it based on their history alone.  But it turns out that while she was cursing his name, he was rotting in some Soviet gulag half a world away.

 

* * *

 

Four days later, Peggy’s plane finally touches down.  They’re met on the runway by three dozen armed guards and quickly ushered into a squat cinderblock building.  It’s freezing, blowing white snow as far as the eye can see.  There is nothing around for hundreds of miles and Peggy understands how truly pointless a prison escape would be.  It would mean certain death.

 

She sits on a rickety metal chair for hours, waiting.  Guards come and guards go.  The occasional bureaucrat pops in.  They have an official translator, but his English isn’t great.  Peggy can read and write Russian, no problem.  But she can only understand maybe a quarter of what they’re saying.

 

Finally, some kind of lab technician enters the room with a tray of syringes and vials, escorted by four armed guards.  When it’s clear that they intend to take blood samples, Peggy scoffs.  There’s a lot of back and forth with the translator, something about communicable diseases in the prison population and how they can’t have people exposed.  Peggy does not understand why they’re being tested, if it’s the prisoners who could expose them to something.  But the takeaway is that she can’t see Steve without this damn blood test, so she finally relents.  They take samples from her, Sif and Dottie.  Daniel get some kind of scratch test.

 

Then more waiting.  It’s dark outside, though Peggy suspects there are only a few hours of sunlight per day at this time of year.  Finally they come back and the translator informs them that everyone but Peggy can be admitted.

 

In the interest of having Steve and Natasha released as expediently as possible, Peggy sends Daniel and Dottie ahead.  Sif stays with her as she attempts to get out of the translator why she can’t be admitted.  He’s gone all red in the face and he’s not saying much of anything, in either English or Russian.

 

She finally gets the word “baby” out of him.  Peggy blinks at him not understanding.  He motions to her midsection.  “Baby,” he says again. He frowns.  “The diseases.  Very dangerous to baby.”

 

Peggy realizes with a start that he means her.  A baby.  She’s pregnant.

 

She staggers back and sits down heavily in the chair.  She’s aware that Sif is looking at her and she looks up, meeting her gaze.

 

Sif reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder.

 

Peggy takes a deep breath, her hand reflexively going to her midsection.  A baby.  She’s pregnant?  Her first thought, after the shock, is joy.  A baby.  They’ve been trying.  But before the joy is even finished blooming in her heart, she realizes this isn’t possible.  She and Steve, they didn’t - 

 

Peggy leans forward, groaning, shaking her head.  “This isn’t possible.”

 

Sif’s brow puckers and she says gently, “You’ve been  _ trying _ .”

 

“No,” Peggy snaps, rising to her feet.  “It’s  _ not _ possible.”  There’s a frantic edge to her voice and she hates it.  She bled.  After Steve left.  She bled.  And then she - 

 

Sif looks at her and comprehension dawns on her features.  “Thompson.”

 

Peggy shakes her head, sitting back down in the chair.  “It’s not possible,” she says firmly.  “He didn’t ... finish.”

 

“Yes,” Sif says carefully, “but you - “

 

“He didn’t finish!” Peggy snaps.  But she knows.  There’s no other explanation.  Jack’s the only person she’s been with, even if he didn’t get off.  She knows the things they tell young girls about heavy petting.  She thought they were scare tactics.  But presumably someone actually got pregnant that way.

 

Oh god.  She’s pregnant.  With Jack’s child.  

 

How is she going to explain this to Steve?

 

Dottie and Daniel finally emerge from the depths of the prison, grim faced, but determined.  It’s not going to be possible to have Steve and Natasha released today, they’re told.  But hopefully first thing in the morning.

 

They’re escorted to an abysmal little bunk house.  Peggy’s seen tree forts that were more homey than the bare cinderblock walls.  The women are shown to one room, Daniel to another.  There are rusty old cots with lumpy mattresses.  It’s so cold none of them even take their coats off, they simply lie down and cover themselves with the scratchy old blankets.

 

Peggy lays awake in the dark for hours. Daniel said both Steve and Natasha looked awful.  They’d obviously been knocked around, either when they were initially captured, or at the prison itself.  He really wasn’t in a position to press them for answers, but he thinks they were probably tortured.  

 

Peggy tries to concentrate on the fact that she needs to bring Steve home.  Bring Steve home and then deal with everything else.  

 

He can hate her. 

 

As long as he’s safe.

 

END CHAPTER


	7. My Wasted Heart Will Love You

Things progress with the same infuriating slowness the next day.  Peggy sits and Peggy stands and Peggy waits.  All day.  It’s dark again, by the time Steve and Natasha are finally released.  

 

Peggy stands there, as the door opens and a half dozen guards escort them into the waiting area.  Steve looks terrible.  He’s too thin.  There’s a fading bruise across his left cheek and no doubt many others in places she can’t currently see.  Peggy has a passing impression of Natasha, surprisingly small, but possessed of an iron resolve.

 

As soon as the guards remove the cuffs, Steve immediately heads for Peggy, pulling her into his arms and giving her a searing kiss, despite the audience.  She clutches at him desperately.  He’s okay.  Thank god he’s okay.

 

He finally pulls back, wiping at her cheeks with his thumbs.  “It’s all right,” he says.  “Don’t cry.”

 

She gives him a watery smile and nods, holding him tight.  

 

They’re escorted back to the cinderblock bunkhouse, though they reconfigure so that Peggy and Steve have the room alone.  As soon as they close the door, Steve pins her to the wall, kissing her deeply.  Peggy responds helplessly, wrapping her arms around his neck.  His fingers go to the buttons on her coat.  She wants him, more than she’s ever wanted anything.  

 

But she can’t.  She presses her hands over his, stilling him.

 

He looks down at her and she can see him tamp down the lust.  He blinks at her, taking a deep breath.  “Sousa and Underwood, they said the commies wouldn’t let you in to see us.”

 

Peggy nods tightly.  “I’m, uh,” she starts, looking up at him.  She swallows thickly.  Oh God, there’s no way out of this.  

 

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, looking away, unable to meet his gaze.  “They won’t let pregnant women in.  Afraid of exposure to diseases in the prison population.”

 

“Peggy,” he says softly.  He cups her face gently in his hands and kisses her.

 

Oh God, he thinks it’s -   

 

Peggy pulls away with a sob, retreating across the room.  

 

Steve stays where he is, clearly confused and a little hurt.

 

“You were  _ gone _ ,” she says through tears.  “I thought - “  She swallows thickly.  “I thought you left me again.”  She winces, fighting vainly for composure that she cannot find. “I was so angry,” she says in a near whisper.

 

Steve looks at her, frowning.

 

Peggy sobs once, a horrible, hollow sound, but she chokes it back.  She looks at him, chin up.  “It’s not yours,” she says quietly, crossing her arms over her chest.  She waits.  Waits for him to say something.  But he just stands there, watching her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her chin wobbling and her teeth chattering.  

 

She backs up until her back connects with the wall and then she slides down it, curling in on herself.  She huddles there, sobbing silently.  She’s not sure how it happens, but she’s leaning against him, his arms around her.  She rests there, against him, crying.  She’s not even sure why she’s crying.  Steve’s okay.  That’s the most important thing.

 

He kisses her forehead and then across her cheeks.  He finally presses his lips to hers.  She doesn’t know why he’s kissing her, but she’s so relieved, so starved for him.  She kisses him back.

 

He pulls her completely into his lap, touching her gently, even though his kisses become more demanding.  He unbuttons her coat and this time she doesn’t stop him.  His hand traces over her body and she arches into his touch.

 

“Is this,” he says, but stops.  He makes her look at him.  “Is this okay?”

 

Truthfully, she doesn’t know.  But it’s going to have to be okay.  Because she needs him, more than she needs anything.  Unable to speak, she nods.

 

* * *

 

Steve lays in the dark on the lumpy mattress, wrapped around Peggy.  He was afraid he’d never see her again.  

 

When he and Natasha were first taken, he thought he knew what to expect.  They’d be pressed for information, then ransomed back.  But weeks passed and he realized that wasn’t the game.  Someone wanted them to disappear.  

 

He knew then, what it would do to Peggy.  He knew how far it would push her trust in him.  To the breaking point, clearly.  

 

He holds her tighter.  She told him.  Everything.  

 

He’s angry.  Surprisingly, more with himself than with her.  If he hadn’t spent a lifetime dodging his responsibilities, she never would have had a reason to think he’d deserted her.  He doesn’t blame her for thinking the worst of him.  He doesn’t even really blame her for doing what she did.  He’s somewhat mollified that she had to dose herself in order to do it.  And that, even dosed, it was bad and no one got off.

 

Jack Thompson, however, is a dead man.

 

Steve wonders if it will be awkward raising the child of a man he killed, but he’s willing to find out.  Not that Peggy’s asked him to be a part of it.  Though, in all honesty, she didn’t ask him to be a part of it if it was his kid either.  So Steve has simply decided that he’s staying.  And she can deal with it.  Because he’s not leaving.  Not again.

 

They don’t even know for sure if she’s actually pregnant.  Some sketchy Russian blood test.  It could be a fluke.  But as much as he wants to believe that, he’s fairly sure the test was right.  For one, Peggy doesn’t seem to be fighting the news.  It’s like she suspected and the blood test merely confirmed things.  But Steve also knows a lot of things can go wrong.  He’s not hoping for it.  Not at all.  But he also isn’t willing to throw away a future with Peggy because of one mistake, or because of a possible future that might not happen.

 

* * *

 

It takes days to get home and they’re both beyond exhausted when they finally stumble into her rooms.  The recent days have been trying.  There’s so much unsaid between them and aside from that first night, they haven’t had a moment of privacy to even begin working through things.

 

Steve reaches for her and she pushes him away with a frown.  “Shower,” she says.  “We both stink.”  She looks at him, her nose wrinkling.  “You smell worse.”

 

He can’t argue with that, but it’s far from the most pressing thing on his agenda.  However, it’s clear he can’t put his agenda into action until they’ve showered, so he pulls her toward the bathroom.

 

Despite his grousing, the shower feels phenomenal.  He’s washing his hair, both hands on his head, when he hears her.  He squinches open one eye, looking at her through suds.  She’s crying.  She reaches out, her fingers trailing lightly over his chest.  He hasn’t looked, but he’s sure it’s bad.  They beat the hell out of him.  Several of his ribs were cracked, though they’ve mostly healed at this point.

 

He quickly washes the soap away and glances down at himself.  The right side of his chest his a mass of greenish yellow fading bruises and angry red welts.  Peggy isn’t saying anything, but she looks miserable.  He pulls her close.

 

“They - “ she starts, looking up at him.

 

He kisses her.  She meets him hungrily, pressing up on tiptoe against him.  He takes her against the cold tile wall, hard and fast and perfect.

 

They eventually make their way to the bed.  He reaches for her again, but the edge is off and he takes his time.  He missed her, rotting in that forgotten place.  He wasn’t sure they’d ever have this again and he’s not about to waste it.

 

* * *

 

“Meeting?” Steve asks.

 

She finishes brushing her hair and looks at him.  “Doctor’s appointment,” she says quietly.  She gives him a tight smile.  “I suppose I have to officially confirm this sooner or later.”

 

Steve nods.  “When is it?”

 

“Half an hour,” she replies.  “Daniel’s going to drive me.”

 

“I’ll drive you,” Steve says.  If it was Sif, or even Rose, that would be one thing. But he’ll be damned if Daniel Sousa is driving his wife to a doctor’s appointment.

 

“Steve,” she starts quietly.

 

“I’m not divorcing you,” he says firmly, cutting her off.  He gives her a hard look.  “Legally, any child you give birth to when we’re married is mine, so let’s get this out of the way.  I’m not going anywhere.  We’re going to figure this out.  Together.”

 

She looks at him, clearly at a loss.  She frowns and opens her mouth to say something.

 

“Do me the favor of not explaining this to me, okay?” he says tightly.  “I understand, Peg.  I do.  You made your choice.  This is my choice.”

 

He knows she wants to argue, but she doesn’t.  She gets her jacket and her clutch and doesn’t say a word as he escorts her to the car.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t far to the doctor’s office.  The waiting room is mostly filled with women, but there are two other couples, both considerably younger than Steve and Peggy.  Steve ignores them. His ego has taken enough of a bruising lately, he doesn’t need to be _old_ on top of everything else.

 

Steve is surprised that they let him back into the exam room with her.  He sits in a corner and listens as Peggy gives them a medical history, including her cycle dates.  The mention of her previous live birth is difficult.  

 

The nurse pulls out a chart and gives Peggy an estimated due date of December twentieth, which is consistent with the math Steve did.  Then the nurse hands Peggy a smock to change into and leaves.

 

Peggy holds the smock in her lap, looking at him expectantly.  He smiles at her.  “I have actually seen it all before,” he says placidly, making it clear he’s not going anywhere.  Peggy seems fairly determined to try and save him from himself and he’s not having it.  He wants to hear exactly what the doctor has to say, first hand.

 

She rolls her eyes, but starts to change.  She gives him the stack of neatly folded clothes and her clutch to hold.

 

Wrapped in the smock and situated uncomfortably on the edge of the exam table, she hands him her earrings.  He takes them, but looks at her.  “How thorough is this exam that you need take out your earrings?”

 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you juvenile,” she curses.  “Just put them in my bag.”

 

He opens the clutch and drops the earrings in, but stops.  He peers inside and then plucks out his dogtags.  He looks at her, eyebrow arched.  “You’re carrying around my dogtags?”

 

She looks away and refuses to answer, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.  He knows she feels guilty.  That much is crystal clear.  But she still hasn’t said anything about how she feels about him.  She didn’t want him to know she was carrying his tags around.

 

The doctor knocks loudly and then opens the door.  He’s an older gentleman with curling white hair and what look to be cold hands, which Steve is sure Peggy will enjoy.  He drops the dogtags back in her purse.

 

Being there for the exam is ... uncomfortable.  Though he supposes it’s probably considerably more uncomfortable for Peggy.  At least they use lube, though that looks cold as well.  He can’t imagine her doing this when she was pregnant with Joseph.  She would have been just a girl.

 

With the exam finished, the doctor helps Peggy sit up and then questions her about how she feels, what she’s eating.  He consults the chart the nurse used earlier and chuckles.  “A holiday baby.”

 

“Yes, quite,” Peggy says tightly.

 

“Well, let’s hope he enjoys turkey.”

 

Peggy blinks at him.  “Pardon?”

 

“Thanksgiving,” he says.  “Turkey.  I guess they don’t have that in England.”

 

Peggy shakes her head, ignoring the turkey question.  “Christmas,” she says.  “The nurse said December twentieth.”

 

The doctor arches a bushy white eyebrow, shaking his head.  “No, I’m afraid not.   _ November _ twentieth, though possibly earlier.”

 

Peggy opens her mouth and then closes it again.  She frowns.  “But I had a cycle in March.”

 

Frowning the doctor picks up her chart and examines it and then shrugs.  “It could have been implantation bleeding, or just spotting.  Are you still having bleeding?”

 

“Ah, no, but - “  Peggy starts.

 

The doctor shakes his head.  “Conception was definitely earlier than that.  February.”  He chuckles.  “Valentine’s Day.  No, you’re definitely due in November.”  He stands up.  “Be sure to let us know if you have more spotting, but everything looks good.  Nancy at the desk will schedule your next appointment.”  And with that, he turns and leaves.

 

Peggy is sitting there, arms crossed over her chest, legs crossed at the knee, staring at the floor.  Steve doesn’t have the greatest memory in the world, but he sure as hell remembers where he was on Valentine’s Day.  And what he was doing.  The answers to both questions being Peggy.  At her brother’s party.  And then in the car.  And again in bed.  Twice.

 

“So ...” Steve says pointedly.

 

She looks over at him.

 

He nods, smiling.  “Guess it’s mine after all.”

 

She opens her mouth and then closes it again without speaking.

 

He frowns at her, confused.  “Are you ...  _ upset _ ?” he asks carefully.

 

She looks at him, expression aghast.  “Have you gone mad?”

 

He shrugs.  “Well, you’re not  _ saying _ anything.”

 

She shakes her head.  “What if he’s wrong?”

 

“He was in there up to his elbows,” Steve says dryly.  “I don’t know how much better of a look you want him to take.”

 

If looks could kill, Steve would be a dead man.

 

He holds up his hands in surrender.  “He’s a thousand years old, Peg.  Let’s assume he’s knows what he’s doing.  Besides, what’s more likely?  That our marathon night of debauchery did the job, or your fifteen second game of hide the sausage with Thompson where he didn’t even get his rocks off?”

 

She looks at him and her eyes are glassy.  “Do you think he’s right?”

 

Steve stands up and closes the distance between them, looking down at her.  “Yes,” he says firmly.  “I do.  Do you?”

 

She blinks quickly and nods.  “Yeah,” she says quietly.  “I do.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy changes into her clothes and they make the follow up appointment.  The receptionist updates the chart.  November twentieth.

 

In the car, Peggy looks out the window.  “That’s Joseph’s birthday,” she says quietly.

 

Steve nods.  “I know.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy is standing in the nursery when Steve finds her.  He walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her.  She leans back into him.  “We’ll have to get a new crib,” she says.  “I have no idea what happened to Joseph’s.”

 

“You’re going to use this room?” Steve asks evenly.

 

She turns around and looks up at him, frowning.  “What other room would I use?  If you think I’m going to put him down the hall like your mother - “

 

He kisses her, silencing her.  “I wasn’t suggesting you hide the kid away.  But there’s another bedroom next door if you don’t want to reuse this room.”

 

She blinks at him.  “But you’ve been using that room.”

 

It’s not true.  He hasn’t used that room in weeks and weeks.  He has some papers in there, and his duffle bag.  “I’ll find someplace else,” he says.

 

She looks at him, her features tight.

 

“I’m moving into  _ your  _ room,” he says bluntly.  “So don’t get your hopes up about getting rid of me.”

 

“I wasn’t - “ she starts.

 

He kisses her again.

 

END CHAPTER


	8. The End is the Beginning

Peggy’s next doctor’s appointment goes well, and there is no invasive examination, just some poking at her abdomen.  The doctor tells them he suspects the initial due date he gave them is wrong.  

 

Steve watches Peggy tense, watches her knuckles go white.  Then the doctor explains that he suspects the due date is earlier, first part of November.  

 

Steve takes it all in stride.  This is his kid.  And the kid will get here when he or she gets here.

 

Peggy still hasn’t done anything with the spare room.  And Steve understands her reticence.  Things could still go wrong.  Her file at the clinic is stamped with “Advanced Maternal Age”.  There is a depressing laundry list of potentially catastrophic outcomes.

 

At home, Peggy did actually make space for him in her bedroom.  Steve knows it’s progress, but she still clams up any time he tries to actually discuss anything.  She responds to him physically, but emotionally she’s completely walled off.  She seems lonely.  Even when he’s right here.

 

Steve really wants to hit something.

 

* * *

 

Peggy’s expression is tight as she enters Council headquarters.  She has no idea what’s going on, only that there was an accident and it involves Steve.  Her heart is hammering in her chest.

 

Howard meets her in the hallway.  

 

“What happened?” she demands tightly.

 

Howard frowns.  “Uh, broken bones, we think,” he says.  “Doc's in with him now.  Definitely a concussion, though he’s already regained consciousness.”

 

Peggy shakes her head.  “I don’t understand.  How?”

 

“A chair, we think,” Howard says, sounding vaguely impressed.  “Fists too, but mostly a chair.”

 

Peggy winces, completely confused.  “Steve was hurt with a chair?”

 

“Rogers?” Howard says, frowning.  “No.  Thompson.”

 

“Mr. Jarvis called me about  _ Steve _ .”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Howard says brightly.  “Rogers did it.  He’s in holding cell three.  You’re going to have to sign him out.  Masters is pretty hot about it, but everyone else knows Thompson had it coming.”

 

Comprehension dawns.  Steve wasn’t hurt.  Steve came over to Council headquarters and beat the hell out of Jack Thompson.  Peggy’s relief wars with irritation.

 

Peggy is quiet as Howard escorts her to the holding cell, but he tactfully leaves as soon as the door is opened.  She stares at Steve, simply standing there, looking defiant.

 

“Upset?” he asks.

 

She swallows thickly and nods.

 

He snorts and then shakes his head.  “I don’t know what else to try.  If you want Thompson - “

 

“They told me it was  _ you _ ,” she says, cutting him off.  “Mr. Jarvis called.  He said there was an accident and it involved  _ you. _ ”

 

Steve makes a silent  _ oh _ with his mouth and nods.  

 

Peggy shakes her head and looks away, blinking quickly.  “I love you,” she says quietly.  

 

“Do you?”

 

She looks back at him, head canted to the side.  “Yes,” she says firmly, incredulous.

 

He shrugs.  “You never say.  And any time I try and say something you’re gone.  Maybe not physically, but mentally.  You check out.”

 

She crosses her arms over her chest and nods to the door.  “Can we please go home?”

 

He motions for her to lead the way and then follows her out to the car.  He takes the keys and drives them home.  Peggy is silent.

 

When they get to their rooms, Steve tosses the keys on the desk and looks at her expectantly.

 

“What do you want me to say?” she asks.  “I’m scared.  Okay?  I’m scared.”

 

“Of what?” he asks carefully.

 

“ _ Everything _ ,” she says, choking back a sob.  “I’m scared to love you, scared to lose you.  I’m scared something will happen with the baby.  I’m scared I’m a bad mother.”

 

He winces.  “You’re a great mother.”

 

“The fact that I don’t have a child tells a different story,” she says bitterly.

 

“That’s my fault,” he says quietly.

 

She shakes her head and sits down heavily on the sofa.  “It’s not your fault, Steve.”  She takes a deep breath, gently wiping away tears.  “I’m sorry I let you take the blame for so long.”

 

He looks at her for a long moment and then crosses the room, taking a seat next to her. 

 

“What happened to him?” she asks quietly.  She’s never asked.  Not in five years.  And he’s never offered.  But it’s time.

 

He takes a deep breath.  “There was a convoy,” he says.  “A bunch of the younger guys were going.  Raiding party.  Stupid.  Dangerous.  I couldn’t believe the latitude that idiot Lieutenant was giving them.  I was only there to observe because the company was such a mess.  I was supposed to make recommendations for improvements.  Joseph was tagging along with me.  I shouldn’t have had him there.”

 

Steve shifts, scrubs his hand over his face.  “I think he expected life with me to be more exciting.  At that point, I wasn’t really in the field at all.  It was a lot of meetings, a lot of dog and pony shows.  I think he spent his time bored half to death, stuck with a bunch of old soldiers who couldn’t do much of anything except talk about the glory days.  So when we met up with that company, and those boys who were so close to his own age, he decided to make the most of the situation.  He found a spare uniform somewhere, climbed in with the other boys ...”  He shrugs.

 

Peggy nods.  She knows painfully well what Steve means.  Joseph could be so stubborn.

 

Steve shakes his head.  “There was  _ nothing _ left.  Just burnt out vehicles.  Mangled.  All those boys were ... gone.  There wasn’t even enough left to bag up.”

 

Peggy reaches out and takes his hand.  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she says quietly.  “I’m sorry you have to remember it.”

 

He turns his head and looks at her, and then away.  “I beat that idiot Lieutenant half to death.”  He sighs.  “They discharged me after that.  Honorably, as a parting gift.  But I was done at that point, with that life.  It was over.”

 

She moves closer to him and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her to him.  

 

“Thank you,” she says softly, “for being the one to tell me.”

 

He holds her tighter.

 

“I’m sorry for the things I said to you,” she says in a near whisper.  Truthfully, she doesn’t remember most of it.  But she knows how angry she was.  And she knows the vitriol she is capable of.

 

He laughs darkly.  “I think it actually made it easier for me,” he says.  “The fact that you blamed me, that you were so angry.  I felt like I deserved it.  It was a relief.”

 

She wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face against him.  “I love you, Steve.  It wasn’t your fault.”

 

He doesn’t say anything, but she can feel the tips of his fingers biting into her skin.

 

* * *

 

Peggy’s waddling before she makes any decisions about the nursery.  In the end, she does pack away most of Joseph’s things.  A lot of it she saves.  She’s convinced the child she’s carrying is a boy, so some of the things can be reused.  She moves the pictures out into the suite’s main room.  They find a crib and Steve and Rose manage to assemble it without coming to blows.

 

The pregnancy, on the whole, is mostly uneventful.  But everyone has a big scare at the end.  Peggy’s blood pressure is dangerously high and uncontrollable.  The doctors recommend a Caesarean section.  They don’t mention the word ‘death’, but Steve understands the situation is grave.  He puts on a good front for Peggy, but he’s terrified.

 

As it turns out, Grant Rogers is not born on November twentieth.  He’s born on November first, weighing nearly nine pounds.  He’s healthy and the nurse brings him to the waiting room and deposits him in Steve’s arms.  All Steve can see is his squinchy little face.  He’s swaddled in blankets and has a little blue cap over his head.  Steve’s certain he’s never been in charge of more precious cargo.

 

Steve holds Grant for hours.  It seems like Peggy is in surgery for way too long.  Steve’s nervous, despite assurances from the nurses that everything is normal.  He’s finally informed that she’s in the recovery room.  Steve paces, with the baby clutched to his chest, having no idea what else to do.  The nurses eye him a bit warily, but no one tries to take Grant away from him.  They finally take him to see her.

 

Peggy is awake, but groggy.  She’s ecstatic to meet her son.  Her blood pressure has normalized, and according to the doctor, everything looks great.  

 

Steve sits in the chair next to the bed, watching as Peggy unwraps the baby.  He considers suggesting she not do that, since the nurses were so adamant about the swadling, but he’s not that brave.  Peggy unwraps Grant and removes his little cap, and then places him directly on her chest, skin to skin.  She cups her hand around his head and sniffles.  “His head isn’t pointy.”

 

Steve looks around the room, at a loss.  “Should it be?”

 

“Joseph’s was,” she says quietly.  She looks at Steve and rolls her eyes.  “Byproduct of being squeezed through the birth canal.”

 

Steve nods.  That would explain why Grant’s head isn’t pointy.  But he’s reminded, again, of how much he missed the first time.

 

Peggy looks at the little boy with wonder.  “He looks so much like Joseph.”

 

Steve nods, though internally, he doesn’t see it.  If anything, Grant looks rather like Winston Churchill, though smaller and squidgier.  All the same, Steve’s pretty sure he’d move heaven and hell to keep Peggy and Grant safe.  Leaning down, he presses a soft kiss to both their foreheads.

 

* * *

 

As the weeks pass, Grant’s likeness to Joseph (and Winston Churchill) fades.  Grant looks like Peggy.  His hair grows in dark and his eyes get progressively darker, until on his first birthday, they’re nearly the same shade as Peggy’s eyes.

 

Unlike Joseph, Grant isn’t an easy baby.  His entry into the world is indicative of his infancy.  He cries incessantly.  The only time he stops is when he’s eating, or when someone is walking with him.  So Grant and Steve get to know each other very well as they walk constantly.  

 

Peggy’s fretting over the nursery turns out to be for naught when Grant categorically refuses to sleep in there.  They spend a solid two weeks trying to get him to sleep in his crib before they give up.  With Peggy still recovering from surgery, she can’t get in and out of bed easily.  It’s easier for everyone if Grant sleeps with them.  The three of them finally manage to get some sleep.

 

Peggy suggests that Grant is determined to be an only child, and Steve is rather inclined to agree.  After the scare they had at his birth, the doctor bluntly tells them that having another child would be a bad idea.  Both Steve and Peggy agree.  So, of course, Peggy discovers she’s expecting shortly after Grant’s first birthday.  

 

This time, at least, there is absolutely no question about paternity.

 

Much to Grant’s annoyance, he is finally moved out of the big bed and down the hall.  Though he refuses to stay there, so Steve often ends up scrunched up in the tiny little bed with Grant while Peggy and her pillow fort are comfy in the big bed.  It’s for her blood pressure, Peggy claims.  Though her blood pressure has been perfect.

  
  


* * *

 

Peggy pushes herself out of bed.  It’s very quiet, which is either good or bad.  Gingerly, or as gingerly as she can manage in her current state, she walks out into the suite’s main room.  The chaos doesn’t even faze her at this point.  She’s certain that every single toy Grant owns is strewn about the room.  

 

And in the middle of it all, is her family.  

 

Peggy pours herself a cup of tea, wrapping her fingers around the cup as she surveys the room.  Grant was up well before dawn and it looks like he and Steve are taking a morning nap.  Steve is asleep on his back in the middle of the floor, one arm thrown over his face.  Grant is asleep on his chest, one hand on Steve’s chin, the other in his armpit as he drools on Steve’s chest.  They’re both fast asleep.

 

There’s a knock at the door and Peggy hurries to the door before they knock again.  She pulls the door open and looks at the young man.  He looks so familiar.  

 

He looks like Steve, only younger.

 

Peggy’s heart stops and she drops her mug of tea, only vaguely aware of it shattering on the floor.

 

He looks at her, brow furrowed, his attention fixated on her midsection.  He lifts his eyes again, meeting her gaze.  “Mom?”

 

Peggy reaches for him, pulling him to her.  “ _ Joseph _ .”

 

THE END


End file.
